Shield Maiden
by Nestrik
Summary: Years after the fall of Sauron, Saruman bands his Uruk-Hai back together for one last shot at Minas Tirith. Can Eowyn and Faramir's daughter survive both the physical and emotional obstacles set before her in the forms of war and Elf?
1. Chapter One

A/N: I've just seen "The Two Towers." IT IS THE BEST! Go see it NOW if you have a driver's license, and if you don't bug your parent or guardian to take you! It is the best! It's even more compelling that the first one. Éowyn ROCKS!  
  
Disclaimer: Anyone who doesn't seem familiar belong to me. All the places belong to the great J.R.R. Tolkien- by the way, what does that stand for?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter One 21 Years After the Return of the King Elessar to Minas Tirith and the End of the War of the Ring  
  
  
  
THE BLACK HORSE PLUNGED THROUGH THE GATES OF MINAS TIRITH AND RAN, HUGGING THE WALLS OF STONEWALN VALLEY FOR TWENTY MILES UNTIL HORSE AND RIDER REACHED THE HARAD ROAD. The cloaked head whipped around and gazed back at the White City. Behind the city to the east the rugged cliffs of the Ephel Duath hailed the rising sun, crowned with arms of mist. The sky shone blood red about the rays of the intensifying morning star. It was a bloody morning, and the rider shivered as he turned his back on the omen of death.  
  
The black horse rode hard along the road towards the city of Minrimmon, where man and beast would refresh themselves for a short time. Sixty or so miles from the mouth of the valley as the crow flies, the city came into view. The rider's mouth hardened into a grim line under his hood. The walls of the city were lined with archers who would shoot at anything that moved. It was desperate times, and no questions were asked.  
  
Dismounting, the rider drew out the shield attached to his back. The image upon it showed a white tree, with a horse standing beside it. He raised it up into the air, mounted, and steered the horse with a single hand towards Minrimmon.  
  
  
  
A mile away, an archer took his bow in hand and pointed to an approaching figure. "Look there! A rider on a black steed, clad like one of the Rohirrim!"  
  
Another guard stood and looked at the figure. "It does not come from Edoras, yet he is clothed in their garb," he mused.  
  
The first archer, named Hanaland, drew an arrow to his bowstring and waited until the rider was within earshot.  
  
"Halt!" he cried. "Who may you be who comes from the east, and whose device do you bear on your shield?"  
  
The rider stopped and held up his shield with both hands. The tree and horse glinted in the morning sunlight.  
  
Hanaland lowered his bow. "Come," he shouted. "Minrimmon welcomes you."  
  
~***~  
  
Hanaland opened the gates of Minrimmon to the rider and his horse. The rider stabled the black beast and drew his cloak around him as he approached the house of the governor of Minrimmon.  
  
Simbele, the governor, rose as the rider entered, flanked by Hanaland. "Who here enters he city of Minrimmon, ruled by King Elessar and his fair Elvish queen?" he asked.  
  
The hooded figure placed his shield on the ground and drew back the olive green hood. To the surprise of all, it was not a man, but a woman. Her hair, brown with red tints scattered in the waves, sprung out from under the hood. Her eyes were hazel-green and they spoke of present-day Ireland and middle-earth's Rohan.  
  
"I am Analyne," she said in a voice that spoke of Elvish music. "I am the daughter of Faramir, son of Denethor and steward of Gondor, and Éowyn, sister of Éomer King and shield-maiden of Rohan. I seek rest and refreshment within your fair walls till noontime, for I am on a long journey and must make haste."  
  
Simbele nodded. "Where do you ride to, lady?"  
  
"To the northwest, to the land of the Halflings. An old knight of the Mark lays dying there," Analyne answered.  
  
"Who is this knight you speak of?"  
  
Analyne hesitated. "Meriadoc Brandybuck, who fought under Théoden King of the Mark ink the War of the Ring," she answered after a moment's pause.  
  
Simbele's eyes lit up at the famous name. "Go in peace after you have rested, Daughter of the Sun Tower!" he cried. Simbele bowed to Analyne, who bowed back and retreated with Hanaland into the corridors. An hour later a hooded and cloaked Analyne rode off. The horns of Minrimmon blew in farewell to the esteemed woman, and in respect for the dying Merry they began to blow out an old hymn for lost warriors and friends.  
  
Mentaner i Númenerui  
  
Tírien i Rómenóri Manan elye enevanne Nórie i melanelye? Ú-reniathach i amar galen I reniad lín ne mór nuithannen In gwidh ristennin I fae narchannen Caled veleg ethuiannen  
  
Sent by the Lords of the West To guard the lands of the East What drove you to leave That which you loved? No more will you wander the green fields of this earth Your journey has ended in darkness The spirit broken A great light has gone out  
  
A tear slipped down Analyne's cheek as she rode away.  
  
~***~  
  
Faramir and Éowyn watched their daughter ride away before turning away from the horizon.  
  
"What do you think she will find in the Shire?" Éowyn asked her husband, brows drawn.  
  
Faramir looked at his wife, still stubbornly clad in the green of her homeland. Her golden hair blew away from her face in the wind.  
  
"She is so much like you," he murmured to himself.  
  
"She looks like you," Éowyn answered. "But I'm worried about her. These are dark times, Faramir. We did not kill all the orcs in middle-earth at the battle of the Black Gate or the battle at the Pelennor fields.  
  
Faramir shuddered. "Do not dredge up such memories," he said, looking at her sword-arm that was injured by the fell Nazgûl.  
  
"Meriadoc's own wounds are calling to him," Éowyn said. "He is dying, and Frodo is not there to stand by his side. The Grey Havens has called them both, and one has gone already. All that Sam, poor Samwise, will have now is Pippin."  
  
The two exchanged a look and burst out laughing at the serious and kind- hearted Sam left all alone with Peregrin Took, who was famous throughout middle-earth for his brave deeds and tricks, tricks especially in the Shire. Their laughter was subdued quickly, however.  
  
"I will always remember the nights I shared my horse's back with him," Éowyn recalled. "I dressed as a warrior and called myself Dernhelm. We were both two lonely people, left behind from all the excitement of battle." She looked towards the northwest, where her daughter had rode and where Edoras lay on its hill and where her brother ruled the horse masters. "I miss Théoden," she said softly. "He died a true death, after facing his last enemy."  
  
The eyes of Faramir and Éowyn alike were dark as they looked towards the waste that was once Mordor. 


	2. Chapter Two

A/N: Thanks to ;) and Whisper2theWater (HP and the WOTR WAS my first fic. thanks for all the advice :^) ) for reviewing!  
  
I'd also like to tell ya'll- I'm going to try to update at least once every week, so if you check up on this every month or two you won't have to review every chapter and you won't have to read much. But, if you enjoy this story so much that you check on it every DAY, I, of course, wouldn't mind.  
  
Chapter Two  
  
ANÁLYNE RODE TOWARDS BREE. When she saw the barred gate, she sighed angrily and rode around the small town. She could not risk the delay of a locked gate.  
  
The Brandywine was swollen almost to a flooding point. Anályne whispered some Elvish words to the horse and it began to swim to the opposite bank. Half an hour later and a mile off course the beast stumbled onto the bank. Anályne cursed and began to ride sharply northwest towards Hobbiton.  
  
Rain began to fall. Cascades of water flowed down Anályne's hair and back, making her shiver and adding to her somber mood. Grimly she hunched forwards and looked between the horse's ears as she began to ride hard to her destination.  
  
The land began to flatten, though it still sloped gently. Large, ugly brick buildings appeared, but they were unused and in disrepair. Saruman's works still scarred the land, it seemed.  
  
Doors began to appear on the hillsides. Bright golden doorknobs lay in their middle. A hobbit child sat outside one of the doors, staring at Anályne in awe. As she whipped past she heard him yell something to someone inside about an oliphaunt. She grinned.  
  
The smile disappeared as she saw a large gaggle of people outside a particular hole.  
  
"Stand back!" she shouted as she pulled her horse to a stop. The crowd parted for the "Big Person." Anályne dismounted and walked inside. She followed voices to a lighted room, where three hobbits stood.  
  
One, slightly stouter than the rest, had a mop of curly blonde hair. "Come on, Mr. Merry, pull on," he was saying as Anályne walked inside the room.  
  
"Sam, it won't do. He's dying, all right," said the second hobbit, shaking his brown head. He was taller than the other hobbits, Anályne noticed.  
  
She cleared her throat and drew back her hood. In the other hand she raised her shield to show the device on it. "I am Anályne, daughter of Éowyn of Rohan and Faramir of Gondor," she said softly. "I have come to pay my respects, as well as those of the cities of Edoras and Minas Tirith, to Meriadoc Brandybuck."  
The third hobbit lay in bed, but raised his head at the mention of his name. "Anályne!" he said, weakly but with joy. "You were only this high when I saw you last." Merry raised his hands above his head. "Pippin, Sam, I don't believe you've met Anályne before."  
Pippin and Sam nodded. "Pleased to meet you," Sam said.  
"It's my honor," Anályne said, smiling.  
"Mine too," Pippin piped up.  
Sam gave him a withering look.  
"Well, I'm glad you're here," said Merry. "Here I was, on my deathbed, with no one to deliver my letters to Minas Tirith! You know how unreliable the post is these days. And now you've come, dear. Please take these to the city." As Merry handed Anályne a sheaf of envelopes, she noticed that he was wearing the mail of Rohan under a rather battered gray cloak that was pinned with a leaf brooch.  
Merry's face suddenly seized up with pain. "Sam, Pippin," he croaked. The two rushed out into the hall and reappeared a second later, carrying a short sword and a shield bearing the horse of Rohan. They laid the sword and shield upon Merry's chest.  
"Bye, old pal. Better here than with that brute Grishnákh, I reckon," said Pippin with a shudder. Sam patted Merry on the shoulder and made a few choking sounds.  
Anályne bent forwards and kissed Merry on the forehead. The three left the room and closed the door on the hero of Rohan. Merry died as he heard the door click shut.  
~***~  
  
Anályne tucked her hair behind her ears and took a deep breath. All those great things Éowyn had told her about Merry. what a loss to Middle- Earth his death was. But Anályne had little time for mourning.  
"Listen, Sam, Pippin," she said. "I fear that Meriadoc's death is only the first in a sting of unpleasant events. After twenty-one years the orcs have bred and regrouped in the land beyond the Ephel Duath, where no man willingly wanders. The Shire, Gondor, Rohan. all will be affected. Many thought the Battle of Pelennor Fields was the end of Sauron and his power. The wise considered the battle at the Black Gate of Mordor the Dark Lord's last stand. But the orcs themselves were mostly simply scattered, not destroyed. Those of the White Hand are searching, roaming the Misty Mountains for Saruman and the one they call Gríma." A shadow passed over Anályne's face at the name. "Those of the Red Eye have no master and have therefore joined with Saruman. They have already begun to attack the smaller towns. Bree's gates were shut to me."  
Sam and Pippin looked at each other, remembering their fearful night at the Prancing Pony.  
Anályne tried to smile. "Worry not, wise ones. There are no Nazgûl to roam hills or sky this time."  
Sam and Pippin exchanged looks once more. "We will try to rouse the Shire, but they won't willingly march into war," Pippin said doubtfully. "Defense, however, is another story."  
Anályne interrupted. "No one is at war yet, though rumors of it fly over Gondor and Rohan. I just ask you to be prepared for whatever IS coming."  
"Prepared, we will be," said Sam.  
Ten minutes later the hobbits sent Anályne off with her saddlebags packed with food and water. Pippin had also given her an extra sword of his. Anályne ran her index and middle fingers along the flat side of the blade, and flicked it to test the firmness in the handle. The blade didn't budge an inch.  
The black horse shot away from Hobbiton like a dart in the night, silent and brooding. 


	3. Chapter Three

Héo naefre wacode daegréd Tó bisig mid daegeweorcum Ac oft héo wacode sunnanwanung Thonne nihtciele créape geond móras And on thaere hwile Héo dréag thá losinga Ealra thinga the héo forléas Héo swá oft dréag hire sáwle sincende Héo ne cúthe hire heortan lust  
  
She never watched the morning rising Too busy with the day's first chores But oft she would watch the sun's fading As the cold of night crept across the moors And in that moment She felt the loss Of everything that had been missed So used to feeling the spirit sink She had not felt her heart's own wish  
  
THE MISSING  
  
Chapter Three  
  
Aragorn stepped down the stairs of his palace at Minas Tirith and held out his hands. "Legolas," he said, smiling.  
  
The golden haired elf smiled at his long time friend. "Hello, Aragorn. Is Arwen well?"  
  
A shadow crossed over Aragorn's face. "She misses Galadriel. The Gray Havens welcomed them both, but Arwen's place, for now, is in Middle-Earth."  
  
Legolas smiled, trying to cheer his friend. "Have you heard news of how the Halflings fare? No news reached me in my travels of the sea."  
  
Once more Aragorn's face turned dark. "Merry is ill. Éowyn's daughter Anályne has gone to wish him farewell on behalf of all those in Minas Tirith."  
  
Legolas nodded. "So Éowyn and Faramir have married. Is Anályne their only daughter?"  
  
"No, they have a son. Thèoden, they call him. He is in Ithilien at the moment."  
  
Legolas turned and saw the gates of the city, opening and closing for the merchant traffic from Edoras and other places.  
  
"Look," he said softly, pointing towards a black speck in the distance. "A hooded rider on a black steed comes to the city from the valley."  
  
Aragorn shaded his eyes and looked hard for minutes on end. "My eyes. Not as good as they used to be," he muttered after a while. Legolas waited patiently until Aragorn smiled. "Its Anályne," he said, and began to walk down the road towards the gate.  
  
It was then that Legolas noticed that Aragorn was leaning on a cane.  
  
~***~  
  
Anályne urged the horse forwards. Minas Tirith was in sight, and a sudden wave of homesickness overpowered her. The beat of the horse's hooves tapped out the rhythm of the earth's pulse, getting faster and faster.  
  
The gates opened and Anályne was through and into the first circle of the city. Up the road she soared, the horse her wings, the city her home.  
  
~***~  
  
"Anályne," Aragorn welcomed her, smiling. Anályne jumped off the horse and stepped into her 'uncle's' embrace.  
  
"Hello, Uncle," she said, stepping away.  
  
"What news from the Shire?" Aragorn asked, a look of concern flitting across his face.  
  
Anályne sighed. "Merry is dead. Sam and Pippin are trying to persuade their Halfling kin to be ready to defend the Shire."  
  
Aragorn nodded grimly. "I see." He turned to Legolas and motioned him forwards. "This is Legolas Greenleaf, once a member of the Fellowship," Aragorn introduced. Legolas smiled and bent his head towards her in a sort of bow. Anályne smiled also. "Welcome to Minas Tirith," she said. "Before the Master Dwarf departed for Moria he told me many fond things about you."  
  
Legolas's brow creased. "Moria?" he asked. "Why did he go back there?"  
  
"He wanted to give the dwarves that were unmercifully slaughtered there a proper burial," Anályne told him. She smiled. "I do not doubt that he will return."  
  
Legolas nodded. "The Halflings- how are Samwise and Peregrin?"  
  
"They took Meriadoc's death well. They knew that it was his time, I suppose. He lived a full life, serving Rohan," Anályne added, trying to comfort the woodland elf.  
  
Legolas cocked his head. "You remind me of Éowyn, though I do not know her well."  
  
Anályne raised her eyebrows until Legolas laughed. "Well, you do," he intoned, still chuckling. 


	4. Chapter Four

Karone- Thanks for your great review. The symbol things are weird, but the universe balances itself because I can't get italics or bold up on Fanfiction. I got my Elvish from the soundtrack booklets- they have the lyrics and the translations. There are also, believe it or not, Quenya and Sindarin dictionaries online. My sister (Good Charlotte's Girl) is learning how to speak Elvish from those dictionaries.  
  
Lottie du Bois- Thanks for your review also. I love knowing that I was able to tap that kind of emotion in my readers, because so many others have brought that feeling out for me. Thanks again!  
  
hiro tyre- No, I have never read the appendices. What am I missing? I like my fics to be correct, or AU.  
  
A/N- sorry people, but this IS a bit of a romance. However, it also says Action/Adventure under the summary.  
  
Chapter Four  
  
"So you have seen the sea? What is it like? Describe it to me."  
  
It was an hour and a half later, and Anályne and Legolas were still sitting on the steps of the palace in Minas Tirith, talking. Anályne had told him of the history of Rohan, when a farmer from Gondor simply rode off and built Meduseld. His kin followed him and built Edoras, and the Rohirrim's horses were all descended from the steed that the lone farmer rode. Now it was Legolas's turn to talk, and Anályne was curious about the ocean.  
  
Legolas sighed in pleasure. "All my life I have lived in the woods, with my father, with my kin, learning the arts of the trees and the grass and the flowers. The sea was something new to me. It awoke some deep longing in my heart that first surfaced when the Lady of Lórien told me that I would go to the water. When I was on that ship, sailing to islands unknown, I knew that somehow I had always been shut in by some boundary. But when I was on the deck. there was nothing."  
  
Anályne realized that she had shut her eyes, trying to imagine what it was like, to sail over the cresting waves and be one with something greater than you alone. She opened her eyes and saw Legolas looking at her.  
  
"What?" she asked, slightly amused.  
  
"You feel it too," he said, in all seriousness.  
  
"I feel the sea, if that's what you mean. You described it so well, Legolas Greenleaf."  
  
"Partly that," Legolas said, still staring at her. Anályne felt fixed, immobile, under his gaze. "I feel that something is going on," he continued, "just outside the reach of my mind. Something fell speaks to me on the breeze." Legolas turned away from Anályne and stared towards where Mordor once lay. "I know that the remaining orcs have been more active of late, looking for a leader once more. Saruman, I fear, is not dead as we supposed. Wizards are strange folk, some living longer lives than others."  
  
"Legolas, why sit here and ponder?" Anályne stood. "If you must do anything, do it. Plenty of time is left to think about the happenings of the world. You think something is happening just beyond the rim of your vision. Why not ride out and see if it is true? I will go with you."  
  
Legolas shook his head and motioned for her to sit down. "It is something that is not solid yet, not quite tangible," he said softly. "It tears at the edge of my mind like something forgotten, but just out of the reach of your memory. Something close." Legolas reached out for Anályne's cheek. His fingers brushed her skin, and Anályne looked at him, confused and wondering about what he was doing. "Something close," he finally continued, "but just out of reach." Legolas's hand fell back beside him.  
  
Anályne shook her head. "Orcs are either there or not there. They are forthcoming, unafraid of battle. They do not hide just beyond your vision's reach, darting in and out of the shadows. There is some greater force behind them, as there once was twenty-one years ago. I fear that they have already found Saruman, or that Saruman has already established some sort of hold over them."  
  
Legolas nodded. "Your words ring true," he said, gazing once more over the hills and plains of Middle-Earth. "But it still puzzles me," he murmured.  
  
~***~  
  
He could never love Anályne.  
  
He told himself that, over and over again. No. He could not.  
  
She was too much like her mother. Éowyn's icy touch had been cured, but Legolas had a strange feeling about Anályne. She had some sort of wildness about her, a strange aura of savageness. Even though he had grown up in the woods, and she in the city, she was more. one. with the things around her.  
  
Legolas pondered this as he approached his sleeping quarters, close to Aragorn and Arwen's rooms.  
  
Even if he could come to love her, she would not love him back. He was sure of it. She thought him a coward, a fool for not riding out with her anyway to see if what he felt was real.  
  
His life had been far too short to know anything about Elven love. His mother, father, and friends had all fallen in love with Elves and had wed fifty years later because they had time to know that they were sure.  
  
Anályne was a mortal. Legolas Greenleaf had diminutive time to spend with her.  
  
'Why am I thinking about this?' he wondered as he slipped into bed and lay there in the Elven way of sleeping, with eyes awake and the mind in a dreamlike state.  
  
~***~  
  
Anályne patted the mane of her horse, called Salaseine. He was black all over, with not a white mark upon him.  
  
She took a chunk of sugar from a large sack and held her hand out to him. Salaseine sniffed it, then reached out his dry, leathery tongue and licked it up out of the palm of her hand.  
  
Anályne heard footsteps behind her and turned her head to see what it was.  
  
"Bergil!" she said joyfully.  
  
"Hullo, Anályne. You've returned already from your visit to the Shire? How is Master Pippin?" said Bergil, rushing over the words in the habit he had had since he was a child.  
  
"Yes, and he's fine. Meriadoc, however, has passed on to the mysterious lands beyond the Gray Havens." Anályne jerked her head to the East.  
  
"That's a shame." Bergil shook his head and leaned on his spear. He was one of King Elessar's soldiers, and was rather proud of it. His dream had been to be like his father, the renowned Beregond, who had served Denethor in his own way until the king's last hours.  
  
Anályne yawned, not bothering to cover her mouth with her hand. "I have to rest. Good night, Bergil." Anályne smiled at him and walked to him, wanting to say something. Finally, she shut her mouth and walked past him, embarrassed.  
  
She didn't know what to feel for Bergil.  
  
Bergil watched her leave and leaned on his spear again, watching her slim form glide through the shadows, watching the moonlight glance through her hair. On an impulse, he looked up.  
  
The Elven warrior from Mirkwood that he had seen hanging around the palace talking to Aragorn was staring at him through a window. 


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five  
  
BERGIL FROWNED UP AT THE ELD THAT WAS STARING AT HIM THROUGH THE WINDOW. In a breath of wind the elf was gone, but Bergil knew that he had been there.  
  
He gripped his spear in both hands. No matter how many elves he had seen, he still heard tales. Bergil had heard of Elven children scurrying through the night, casting spells on the moon so that night would last longer, their sheets of silvery blonde hair streaming out behind them.  
  
He shook his head to clear it. I've no time to think of Elves in the night, he told himself. I have a job to do.  
  
But Bergil felt his eyes drifting up to the window where the Elf had appeared time and time again, fearing some imagined magic that no wizard possessed.  
  
~*~  
  
Legolas let the curtains drop across the window. So the boy was in love with the woman.  
  
As he thought these words something began to nag at him; some forgotten rule that he had been taught a long time past.  
  
Ciorstaidh.  
  
The name hit him with full force, almost causing him to stagger. He sank to his knees on the cold stone floor and gripped his skull, trying to squeeze the thoughts out of it, trying to repress the memory of what had happened. Legolas closed his eyes tightly, but images were flashing in front of him: sunlight, a dark abyss, orcs.  
  
"NO!" he screamed. "No!" He lay down on the floor in utter misery, trying to block the memory, but it was coming back.  
  
~*~  
  
Anályne heard the noise through her curtain of sleep. She frowned in concentration, trying to hear it again. She didn't have to wait long. It came again, louder, more urgent than the first time. Anályne jumped out of bed and ran towards the noise.  
  
Black upon black she was as she slipped through the shadows. She ran, gathering her skirts into her hand. It was only then that she realized that she had grabbed the sword from her bedside.  
  
Anályne stopped again, straining her ears to see if she could hear anything. A low moan whispered in her ear, and she opened the door to her right, slowly, wary of attackers.  
  
Legolas lay there on the floor, collapsed. Anályne stood in the door for a moment or two, the metal slippery in her hand, and then she came forwards.  
  
His eyes were open but glazed over, unseeing, drifting in the darkness.  
  
HE WAS IN A FOREST. A large forest, with trees that grazed the bellies of the white clouds drifting above. Sun shone down in shafts of tinted green, illuminating a spot here or there on the forest floor. The grass was long and green, with little gold tips, and they swayed slightly in the warm spring breeze. Legolas sighed contentedly and settled back into his mother's arms.  
  
Wait. This wasn't right. His eyes flew open, but he wasn't in his mother's arms anymore. He was walking besides her, his feet lighter than they ever had been. They could have climbed up to the heavens on a stairway of teardrops.  
  
His mother was carrying an infant. Ciorstaidh. This time the name brought no sadness. Legolas reached over and stroked the babe's downy cheek. Ger eyes opened sleepily, bright and alive and gray. Her eyes crinkled in the beginning of a smile, and then she fell asleep once more with the rocking gate of her mother's walking.  
  
Legolas smiled and looked around. Forests were home to him, and he had been here before. Mirkwood. Legolas saw a long procession of Elves behind them, dressed in earthen colors. They came to a stream, and the air became humid.  
  
Legolas shook his head and loosened his collar. It was never this hot in Mirkwood. He looked at Ciorstaidh again, his baby sister. Her eyes were still closed. Legolas reached over to stroke her cheek once more, but she was as cold as ice.  
  
He touched his mother's arm to alert her of Ciorstaidh's plight, but his mother was even colder, wearing the same stoic expression she had been wearing before.  
  
A low rumble began in the darker recesses of the woods. Legolas looked around, but he saw nothing out of the ordinary. He reached out to grab his bow, but his fingers went right through it. Legolas frowned and reached up to touch his head in confusion, but his hand passed straight through his hair.  
  
Legolas was in a memory, a dream. He was nothing but a shadow of the future. The rumbling grew louder. Legolas recognized it as laughter.  
  
"You see, Legolas Greenleaf," a voice whispered. "You will be my revolution. you will be my uprising. even though your mother and sister are embedded in stone for so many years since you have journeyed on the sea. I killed them. but you will help me."  
  
Legolas convulsed suddenly, and found himself on the stone floor, cradled in Anályne's arms. Saruman stood behind her. 


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six  
  
Legolas stared at Saruman.  
  
"Why are you here?" he breathed. Legolas rose from the floor. "Why haven't I killed you for what you did?" Legolas screamed.  
  
Saruman shook his head. "Quiet!" he commanded. "Master Elf grows impatient, for he has seen the past. I have suspended time with my power. we are alone. together. Yes. Your mother and sister are dead now. I killed them, for I knew. Yes, for I know all."  
  
Saruman held up one bony hand. On his middle finger gleamed a ring. Legolas felt his eyes widen.  
  
"Is she dead?" he croaked.  
  
"You forget that she left Middle-Earth eighteen years ago, boy. She entrusted Nenya with one of her people that stayed in the White Forest. She was a fool, a tremendously stupid fool, and I used the Voice to get what I needed. You know what else? I captured all those the witch left behind. they will bend to my will now. I can mutilate them. Orcs!"  
  
Legolas felt that there was some piece of information just out of his memory's grasp, but he could not touch it. He began to move, slowly, positioning himself.  
  
"Galadriel is safe with Elrond in the lands out of vision. Even I cannot see them."  
  
Legolas remembered what he needed to know and drew his bow slowly, so as not to alert the old wizard.  
  
"You forget that the Rings hold no power now that the One Ring has been destroyed," Legolas ventured.  
  
"Psah!" the fanatical wizard hissed and jumped at the elf. Legolas drew an arrow and sidestepped. Saruman whirled around to face the tip of an arrow.  
  
"You told me in my vision. in my dream.. That I was your uprising," Legolas said tentatively. Saruman was smart; he had not yet run out of tricks. Legolas kept a steady hand on the bowstring and felt the comforting pressure of his twin elven knives in their pouches on his belt. "How will I help you?"  
  
Saruman began to creep to the left. "Be still!" Legolas commanded.  
  
Saruman leered at him. "Don't you understand? You are going to kill the guard, my son. You are going to kill him and then I will be free.. Free to enter the city and kill that rat you put on the throne!"  
  
Legolas let go of the bowstring. The arrow's course was straight and true, but the only thing it had pierced was thin air. Saruman had disappeared.  
  
Anályne looked at her empty arms, puzzled.  
  
"Legolas?" she said tentatively. "Legolas! Are you all right? You were screaming in your sleep." When Legolas's back remained turned to face her, she asked, "Legolas? Are you all right?"  
  
He shook his head from side to side, the moonlight glancing off his white-blonde hair. He picked up the arrow and put it away with his bow.  
  
"Anályne," he asked finally, "The Rings of Power are dead now, are they not?"  
  
"They were all destroyed under the One Ring. You know this. Why are you asking me?"  
  
"I had a vision," Legolas said, carefully phrasing his words. "I saw Saruman. He said that I would help his uprising, by killing the guard. He told me he would turn the elves of Lothlorien into orcs."  
  
Anályne shook her head. "Legolas, that is impossible!"  
  
He whirled around to face her, eyes flashing dangerously. "Is it? Is it, Anályne, or are you just too sheltered to see it?"  
  
Anályne stepped up to him. "You forget that I, too, carry a sword, Legolas Greenleaf," she retorted. "I may not have fought in the Battle of Pelennor Fields alongside my mother, but the same blood runs in my veins!" She pushed her sleeve up and showed him her arm. Besides," Anályne said, stepping back, "the night watch brought a body in. Just now. You were already asleep and no one had the heart to wake you. It looks like Saruman, exactly like him. The body will be kept for a few days for. proof that it is him."  
  
The fire in Legolas's eyes died a sharp and painful death. He rubbed his temple. "Do I go mad?" he whispered. "Have the things that I have seen caught up with me?"  
  
Anályne laid a hand on Legolas's arm. "Don't worry. This is a trying time, especially for the veterans of the Great War. Saruman may still be alive. even though. the body," she offered.  
  
Legolas shook his head. "We will have to wait and see," he said.  
  
~*~  
  
It was later that night that the body of Saruman changed. The healers had brought Aragorn himself to look at it. The body was shaking, shaking ever so slightly, but it still worried them.  
  
Aragorn frowned at it. He felt the wrist and the neck for a nonexistent pulse. He pulled back the eyelids and examined the eyes. He inspected the hands and feet, and murmured a few words, but nothing revealed the cause of the shaking. The ground under his feet was still. Frustrated, Aragorn pulled back the long, matted grey hair to look at the ears.  
  
They were pointed.  
  
"Where did the guard find this body?" Aragorn asked, his voice a tremor.  
  
"Near the edge of the Erui, milord," the healer at the front of the small group said. Aragorn slammed his fist into the table. The healer jumped backwards.  
  
Aragorn's hair hung over the body as he spoke. "This is not Saruman, as we all believed and hoped," he said finally, his voice filled with disappointment. "This is a hermit elf. We have heard of such elves, going into the wild after Galadriel and Elrond left Middle-Earth for the Grey Havens. This must be one of them. Saruman did not have pointed ears, and this elf bears no scar in his eyes of looking into a Palantír. This is not Saruman."  
  
Aragorn strode off back to bed, leaving the healers to bury the hermit's body in a shallow grave at the edge of Minas Tirith. 


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven  
  
GUNDA OPENED HIS MOUTH. The dawn was coming. He awaited with bated breath the time where the scarlet would peek over the blackness of the hills.  
  
It came.  
  
"WAKE UP!" Gunda yelled. "Wake up! Awaken, royal orcs! Today we march!"  
  
Moans of dissent echoed throughout the cave. Gunda frowned. "Up, you lazy swine! UP! I will whip you myself until your blood runs cold! Saruman himself comes today."  
  
At this last pronouncement, the soldiers leapt out of their sleeping sacks. Murmuring among themselves, they rolled the sacks up and deposited them in their bags. These they slung over their backs. The entire company was up and ready to go within two minutes.  
  
Gunda smiled. How far the orcs had come! He himself remembered the days when Rohan had gone against them in Pelennor Fields. The bitch Éowyn had ruined their plans, however. She had slain the King of the Nazgûl.  
  
Gunda frowned. He had observed orc restoration for eighteen years. The orcs had become smarter, swifter, faster, all under Saruman's eye. He had not lost all of his wisdom and knowledge during his short imprisonment in Orthanc. But these new orcs were no match for any of his breed. The Uruk- Hai still stood strong over the orcs.  
  
His orc brethren felt the slight chill in the air before he did. Sensory nerves had been honed to perfection in these new orcs. Gunda frowned. They were better than him, in one way. He didn't like that.  
  
The chill meant Saruman. The orcs snapped to attention, Gunda at their head. The footsteps echoed through the cave. An orc near the back fidgeted. Gunda made a mental note to reprimand that particular orc.  
  
The gray figure in the doorway did not look imposing. The naked eye saw only a bent old man. Long rid of Wormtongue, Saruman had never replaced his servant. The man leaned on his staff. Saruman had been stripped of his title, but he still had his magic. The staff was useless for sorcery, however. Its mystical powers had gone with Saruman's title. The White was now Gandalf. And Gandalf was gone.  
  
Saruman allowed himself a chuckle. The Fellowship still survived, in more ways than one. Sam was a reason in his own. The steadfast would be taken care of in turn. Aragorn and Gimli were easier. Both mortal, a slip of poison at dinner or a well-placed arrow to the neck would suffice. Legolas was the most challenging member to eliminate. Elves could only die of heartbreak, or battle. With an Elf sleeping with his eyes open, even if he was truly asleep, would be a challenging risk, one Saruman could not afford to take. It was nearly impossible to catch an Elf off guard. Saruman decided to take the mental route to Legolas's destruction- his midnight visions would soon drive him mad, if the shield maiden did not. Anályne was an uncalculated barrier. Saruman had not known that the daughter of Rohan would prove such skill and intelligence. But Saruman could bend the stubborn young fool to his will. He was sure of it.  
  
Saruman looked out over his sea of improved orcs. They would be adequate for his plan. First, the smaller cities, Bree, the like, had to fall, or else be swathed in so much terror that they would not open their gates to anyone. Then, Edoras had to fall. The Rohirrim's capital was not the least of his problems, but it was not immediate. The new construction projects taking place also had to be stopped. Then, finally, Minas Tirith, the Tower of the Sun.  
  
It was a basic attack. Saruman wondered at Aragorn's stupidity.  
  
~*~  
  
The clicks were loud and had a smooth rhythm: click, click click, click, click click. Anályne knew that if the noise did not stop soon, or at least change its petulant beat, she would go crazy.  
  
She threw off the covers of her bed. Anályne was tired. The strange night had absorbed all of her energy, and she felt that she needed an extra long sleep. Apparently, this was not her day.  
  
Anályne stood and stretched. Her nightdress was damp with perspiration. She frowned. Anályne remembered a fitful rest and several bad dreams.  
  
The sound appeared to be coming from the window. Anályne crossed the room and pulled aside the curtains.  
  
There are soldiers marching in the square.  
  
The realization sunk into her. Anályne hadn't seen soldiers since she was young and stray orcs were still a major threat.  
  
Saruman. How could she forget? The man haunted her day and night, ever since she had watched Meriadoc die. Anályne hugged her arms close to her body. 


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight  
  
WITHIN A WEEK, THE TOWNS OF MINRIMMON AND EREGION HAD FALLEN TO SARUMAN'S POWER. The soldiers in Minas Tirith began to prepare for the worst. Daily marches through the streets served for a warm up, then they jogged across bogs and swamps, fighting dummies, carrying their shields, swords and survival packs.  
  
Bergil was among those training for what was quickly becoming an inevitable war. Saruman would not be content with just small towns added to his list of conquests. The only question was of Gondor and Rohan. Which would Saruman attack first?  
  
Éomer King and Aragorn kept in constant contact. The air was thick with messenger birds, and the ground was raw from the footprints of horses running urgently to Edoras or to Minas Tirith.  
  
Salaseine, Anályne's horse, had been taken for the cavalry unit. Éowyn routinely checked up on the horses, for though the tenders came from the land of Rohan, all knew that the princess of the Riddermark was exceptionally skilled with horses.  
  
Anályne herself had kept to the background of the sudden wave of political activity and militarism that had suddenly stormed upon Minas Tirith. Day by day fugitives from attacked hamlets and villages rode or walked in. Similar reports came from Edoras. Many had also taken refuge in the silent halls of Rivendell, populated only by some Elves and some half- Elven folk who had lingered after Lord Elrond had gone to the Grey Havens.  
  
A week after the soldiers of Gondor had appeared in the town square, Anályne dressed herself entirely in white and went to visit her father.  
  
Faramir was one of the king's closest aides, as he was the son of Denethor, once the steward of Gondor. Therefore, his family almost never saw him, and when he was, the same harried expression decorated his rugged features.  
  
Anályne found him wandering around the entrance hall of the great palace of Minas Tirith, a frown creasing his forehead as his brown hair fell into his face to be shunted back behind his ears.  
  
"Father," Anályne said as she approached, watching carefully for any trace of irritation to cross his features. But Faramir looked up, only tiredness showing through his demeanor.  
  
"Daughter," he said, and embraced her loosely.  
  
"Father," Anályne said as she pulled away, "I was wondering if I could do anything. anything to help."  
  
But before she had finished her plea Faramir was already shaking his head. "Your place now is here. I will not have you, my only daughter, going off to war. Not now. Not ever."  
  
"But-," Anályne began to protest. Faramir raised his hand to silence her.  
  
"Anályne, you, just like your mother, thought you were fit to go to war. Looked what happened to Éowyn. Even now her wounds from Pelennor Fields haunt her in the night. I will not have the same happening to you. We have enough soldiers. We have no need to risk our women also."  
  
"Father, I'm not saying I have to fight, I just-,"  
  
Again Anályne was silenced by her father's raised hand. Faramir's tone was quiet even though the hall was empty, and Anályne could hint at the anger behind it.  
  
"Your mother thought she was a shield maiden. She risked her life and saved the lives of others, but they were desperate, Anályne, desperate! I will not have you-!"  
  
"But she came back alive when so many others came back dead!" Anályne cried out. Before she could catch her breath, Faramir had already drawn his hand and slapped her across the cheek. When he spoke again, his voice was decidedly calm.  
  
"I will not have you fighting or doing anything to risk your life. Do you understand? Must I post a guard around you to stop you from doing anything stupid? Control your stubbornness, Anályne."  
  
With that, Faramir walked away and out of the hall, leaving Anályne alone. She stood rigidly still, not having moved since her father had struck her. She didn't even move when a voice came from behind her, out of the shadows.  
  
"Do not be angry with him. It will pass. He just thinks that he is doing what is right for you."  
  
Anályne's tone was cold, and her words felt like ice across her tongue. "I am as much a part of this war as he is. I want to fight. It is my duty to defend my birthright. I am a shield maiden of Rohan and a warrior of Gondor."  
  
"He will realize that."  
  
"Only when it is too late." Anályne turned and looked into the deep blue of Legolas's eyes, so deep that it was almost black. "Your women never fight."  
  
"Our women are as adept as our men, and they wear the same uniform. They fight. It is just that most do not wish to. I see no reason why the same is not true for human women." Legolas smiled, but the smile was so small that it was only noticeable for the crinkling lines that formed around his eyes. Then his expression darkened. "But I fear that you will fight whether your father wants you to or not, either by your own choice or of the choice of your father, for many men will die."  
  
"To be replaced with women?" Anályne asked, a trace of scorn still hinting in her voice.  
  
"To be replaced with grandmothers, old men, boys, girls, and women. This war will claim most of all that we have done since the fall of Sauron." Legolas looked deep into Anályne's green eyes, seeking out the soul that lay within. "Everything that we have strived to improve will change. You know that this is folly," Legolas continued. His fingers brushed Anályne's cheek, but she did not move in response to his touch. "Your mind knows this, and you also know that Saruman will not emerge the victor."  
  
Anályne looked away and then returned her gaze to the Elf. "Do I, Legolas? For my heart still harbors doubt of any kind of victory."  
  
"Many doubt, but I do not. Anályne, King Elessar thinks in statistical form. He knows that people will die, as do I, and his thoughts dwell on that fact. I don't think like that. I know that lives will be lost, many lives, but we will emerge back into the light."  
  
"You speak like you do not care about the dead!" Anályne cried out. "Elves are immortal. You are blind to the pain that death brings!"  
  
Legolas's eyes darkened, and he grabbed Anályne's upper arm. Her back stiffened, and then relaxed. Any man thus insulted would have gripped her arm, but Legolas had simply wrapped his fingers around her muscles, leveling her attention on his words.  
  
"Many men mistake the meaning of immortality," Legolas said. "They think we cannot die. And we cannot, not of old age or of sickness. But we can be killed in battle, or we can die of heartsickness."  
  
He expected Anályne to bristle, but she did not. Instead he saw the scorn seeping out of her eyes, replaced by sympathy. and a deeply imbedded feeling of trust.  
  
"I had a sister." Legolas paused as his voice broke over the words. Anályne could feel his fingers tightening on her arm as he voiced the painful memory. "The night you found me writhing on the floor. Saruman was there. He was there, I don't know how. He showed me my sister. he killed them, Anályne. He killed my mother and my sister, and others besides. Then he told me that Nenya was still alive, still in Lothlorien, and that he would turn the Elves of the White Forest into orcs once he had Galadriel's ring."  
  
"Then he said that you would be his uprising," Anályne continued softly. "Legolas Greenleaf, I have not the gift of foresight, but I do know that you will do nothing to help Saruman achieve his goal. I trust in you, Legolas. This is my word." With her left hand she touched her heart, with her right she enveloped Legolas's large, calloused hand in her own.  
  
"He said that I would kill the guard," Legolas said dully, looking down at his hands, one in his lap, the other held in Anályne's.  
  
"I know that you will not."  
  
"I've killed others."  
  
"Only in battle," Anályne intoned.  
  
Legolas ripped away from Anályne and stood with his back to her. "How do you know? Have you gazed into my past?"  
  
Anályne stepped backwards, glaring at his back. "No. I just think that I know you. Do I?"  
  
Legolas visibly sighed, and then turned around to face her.  
  
"Only in battle," he murmured. Anályne smiled.  
  
A few moments later she was no longer smiling. A bell was tolling, deep into the innermost circle of Minas Tirith. Something was happening.  
  
Legolas had already drawn his bow. Anályne rushed to the far wall and grabbed a sword off of the display rack. It weighed heavily in her hand.  
  
The two listened closely to the tolling of the bell, one ring after the other, until they both relaxed.  
  
"A messenger has returned from Edoras!" Anályne told Legolas.  
  
The door to the hall swung open, and a single stooped figure strode in.  
  
In the days that had passed since they had last seen each other, Bergil had changed. His arms rippled with newly formed muscles, reminiscent of the harsh practices inflicted on the soldiers. Two swords lay sheathed at his hips, and a bow and quiver lay silent on his back.  
  
"Lord Faramir!" Bergil called out, and then he saw Anályne and Legolas, facing each other in the center of the hall, one with a bow notched in his quiver and the other with a sword slightly trembling in her hands.  
  
In a moment, Bergil had drawn his twin swords and had both of them pointed at Legolas's throat, only to find the shaft of an Elven bow staring him down.  
  
"Bergil!" Anályne said, a hint of something unrecognizable creeping into her tone. "What's all this?"  
  
"He was attacking you, milady!" Bergil cried out, his fingers visibly tensing on the handles of his swords as he looked into the dark Elven eyes. " Threatening you with his bow and arrow!"  
  
"I was not, soldier," Legolas said quietly. He lowered his bow slowly, but Bergil did not desist.  
  
"Then what's going on, Anályne?" Bergil said, clearly not trusting Legolas's word.  
  
"We thought. the bell. we thought there was an attack. But Bergil, really, you've no need to go around defending me." Anályne's tone reeked of impatience, and Bergil heard it. He stepped back, a sheepish expression upon his still boyish features.  
  
"Well then. I've a message for Lord Faramir. Milady." Bergil ran off to find Faramir without another word.  
  
Legolas looked after him with a hint of disdain. When he turned back, he saw that Anályne had gripped the sword with both hands and was fighting with the air in the middle of the hall.  
  
She thrust and blocked, parried and fought with an unseen opponent. A thin sheen of sweat had broken out along her hairline. Legolas watched her as she practiced and remembered what Aragorn had told him.  
  
"I came upon her practicing in the hall. She was skilled with a blade, very skilled, and she told me of the ancient shield maidens of Rohan and how they learned the art of swordsmanship."  
  
Aragorn had been speaking of Éowyn, but as Legolas watched Anályne, he saw the ancientness in her movements, the swiftness in which she fought the air, and he heard the blade part unseen foes.  
  
Suddenly the girl stopped and inspected her sword, which was still trembling with the swiftness of her movements. With her fingers Anályne tested the strength of the blade, the malleability of its movements.  
  
Legolas watched her, a quiet observer in the great hall of the palace. Once Anályne ceased inspecting her blade, she took its sheath from the wall, belted it around her hips, slid the blade home with a practiced ease, and looked at Legolas.  
  
"I miss Meduseld. I miss all that I held dear in my childish heart." Anályne gestured to the blade at her hip, shining dully among the whiteness that swathed her body in the gothic fashion of the women of the Riddermark. "For I am denied everything. I am not a child, but not yet a woman, not a warrior, not someone that anyone holds dear."  
  
She delivered these words calmly and with ease, as if she was talking of someone other than herself. Anályne showed no emotion as she spoke of her fate. Legolas crossed his arms over his chest, the leather strap of his quiver soft against his arm. "No one knows what destiny has in store for us."  
  
"But you spoke of Gondor defeating Saruman."  
  
Legolas smiled, again, it showed mostly around his eyes. "Some things, one just knows. You will find your path." A shadow crossed over his eyes. "And perhaps I will find my own someday."  
  
"You are an Elf, Legolas, immortal, a Prince of Mirkwood. You need not worry about hastening your destiny."  
  
"I believe my part has already passed me by."  
  
Anályne frowned as Legolas spoke these dark words. She crossed the small space between them and stood in front of him and looked up into his clear face, her profile sharp against the light coming in from the many windows. "If your part has already passed you by, Legolas Greenleaf, then you have already fulfilled your destiny. You have nothing more to enjoy than the brightness of the life around you." Legolas saw her green eyes glisten as she paused. "You saw that Elves can only die in two ways: either they are slain in battle or they die of heartbreak. If this be your fate, if death is your destiny, then what can you do to stop it? Fight with the gifts that you have, Legolas, and do not waste time wishing that you had something else."  
  
Legolas stepped closer, looking at the wisdom in the girl's eyes. She's only a girl compared to my years, but how could she know so much? Legolas thought.  
  
The expression of trust, devotion and faith in Anályne's eyes was so compelling that Legolas could feel his soul being drawn forwards, into the abyss of fate that held no return for man or beast.  
  
Faramir stepped out into the hall and paid no notice to the lack of distance between his daughter and the Elf. "Legolas," he said tersely. The Elf slowly turned his head and saw the tenseness in the man's eyes, the weariness in his face. "I need you here, with Aragorn and the other war masters. Something. something has happened."  
  
Legolas looked at Anályne, lightly touched her hand, and departed, following her father's footsteps across the hall and into another place to which Anályne could not follow.  
  
She lightly touched her fingers to her lips and breathed upon them, exhaling slowly. The sword felt heavy at her side.  
  
A/N: Sorry it's been a while since Chapter Seven. A rewrite of this is probably going to occur after the first draft is written and posted. More detail and things like that. I apologize for the lack of them and for the shortness of all and future chapters. 


	9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine  
  
THE STREETS OF MINAS TIRITH WERE FILLED WITH THE ACTIVITY OF A PEOPLE PREPARING FOR THEIR SECOND WAR IN FIFTY YEARS. The first had claimed most of all that they had- their fathers and sons, husbands and brothers. Children that were merely children in the first war now stood taller, with deeper voices, and they had taken the place of the fallen. They took up the swords of their fathers and uncles and rode out to practice with faces edged with stone, for they knew what they were going to face- they saw reminders of it every time they saw their faces and saw the features of those long dead under the hand of Sauron.  
  
The usual wares had disappeared from the peddlers' stands. Instead of jewelry there was mail, piled on top of the rest with the soft tinkling of chain. Armor had taken the place of woven baskets, and swords had dominated the rest of the trade. The only factor to be noticed was the quality and age of the thing that you were buying, for many of the goods were antique and old. The only normalcy that could be found in town was the other side of the marketplace, where food, provisions, clothes, and other necessities were sold. Everyone knew, or had someone that knew, that even though their master was missing and only the head general remained, that this war would be long and arduous. Saruman had lost none of his brilliance and none of his madness in his short years of exile before rallying the orcs again to his cause. People flocked to Minas Tirith from the smaller towns every day, keeping homestead with friends or relatives, fearing for the safety of their small towns with the thatched roofs.  
  
Anályne stood at the entrance to the Healer's grove one blustery day. The grey clouds raced each other overhead, some heavily laden with rain but only sprinkling a few drops onto her cheeks. The wind was heavy with the promise of precipitation, and the humidity made it hard for Anályne to draw breath. The streets below her were crawling with activity, and she caught herself watching the people, wondering about where they were from and what their lives had been like.  
  
I'm a shield maiden, yes, Anályne thought to herself as she turned her gaze from the peasants to the dark line of horses winding its way through the hills towards the city, bearing the soldiers of the White Tree that Yavanna, mistress of Arda and Giver of the Fruits, had given Gondor in the time of the Valar. But does that fact, potent only in my mind and in Legolas's, give me the right to take up the sword?  
  
I know I can fight, another voice answered. I have bested Bergil many times on the practicing field.  
  
Anályne sighed and buried her head in her hands, letting the wind do its will with her hair. Tears began to course down her cheeks as she raised her head back up to the wind, feeling the wet streaks hot and prominent on her face. And in that moment Anályne felt weak, for she was nothing because she could do nothing.  
  
Her throat muscles fought against the rising bile, and she coughed as she remembered Merry, whose death she had witnessed. He was a Halfling, a hobbit that had grown used to domestic ways, and yet he had fought and had defeated orcs. Why could she not do the same?  
  
But he wasn't supposed to fight, she thought miserably, the wind stinging her eyes. Mother took him on the back of her horse because she wasn't supposed to be in battle either.  
  
But Éowyn had killed the king of the Nazgûl.  
  
And had nearly been killed in the process.  
  
But she lived! The voice proclaimed in her head.  
  
Anályne shivered and wrapped her arms around her body. Involuntarily she glanced to the barren region that was still known as Mordor, and was still avoided.  
  
~***~  
  
The orcs had taken stronghold in the many valleys of the Ephel Duath, carefully avoiding the rocky slopes that led to their past and to the land that had once held strength for them.  
  
These orcs that rested where the rest of the force once known collectively and singularly as the Uruk-Hai, the super orcs that Saruman had bred in Isengard years before. They were the best, and they were biding their time and their strength. The city of Minas Tirith never left their gaze.  
  
Other orcs were on the march. It did not matter how many fell from exhaustion or from battle: the outcome was always the same.  
  
Bree was no exception.  
  
Barliman Butterbur shuttered his windows and locked his doors. Nothing had happened in his time since Saruman's stripping and befouling of the Shire, but he was always on edge. Whenever a horse shrieked in fear he started, and the clicks of metal boots resounded in his nightmares.  
  
He supposed that me had been lucky. He had not been harmed, and his family had survived. But it was one cold, blustery night, when the wind was blowing from the west that Butterbur's luck ran out.  
  
He was sleeping restfully. The sounds of fighting and drinking in the bar had long since died away, and the nightmares had not yet started for this night, at least.  
  
But then the all-too familiar sounds began. The boots of the Riders, clicking on his floors, the iron swords clicking against the scabbards, the upturned face of the Halfling called Underhill, his eyes carefully containing strains of panic and fear.  
  
Barliman woke in the middle of a particularly loud snore. His nightshirt clung to his back, drenched in cold sweat. He cursed and swung his legs over the side of the bed. It was then that he noticed the shadows moving slowly outside his windows.  
  
Riders! Barliman though wildly. Nonsense, he then thought as he gained control of his sudden attack of the chills.  
  
But the shadows moved.  
  
Frowning, he crept slowly towards the window. The catch was cold and slippery against his pudgy hand, and he counted to three before flinging open the window.  
  
He saw a dull glint of metal, and screamed. 


	10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten  
  
"My Lord, Bree has been razed," the messenger said. His hair was still windswept after a number of minutes inside.  
  
Aragorn listened and let no emotion run across his rugged features. He felt Arwen breathe in, quickly but slowly, beside him. She was not as startled as he. He swallowed, nervously. This was the first move. Saruman was back. Aragorn touched his forehead.  
  
"When did this happen?"  
  
"Two nights ago, sir. We just received word from. a survivor."  
  
Aragorn nodded, his head suddenly feeling ten times heavier than anything that his neck could hold up. "I see. prepare the troops to arms. Send out scouts. I need to know where the orc company is moving, and when. and send a message to the Shire. There will be war in their corner soon, if Saruman again tries to invade them."  
  
Legolas stood behind Aragorn, his hand resting unconsciously on his knife-hilt. The Elven designs swirled like waves under his fingers, but his mind was not on the beauty of his people's craft. He thought of war.  
  
Oh, Merry! Legolas's thoughts lamented. Why did you have to die when the world will need you for one last thing?  
  
It had been two days. Two long days had passed, and the first shadow had fallen upon Gondor without their knowledge. Had not the wind been blustery these past few days, the sky as cold as a Lothlorien smile, the air biting and sharp, with a promise of rain edging the breeze? Nothing like this had happened since the Revival twenty-one years before, the return of Elessar to his rightful throne and heritage.  
  
Legolas sighed and retreated out of the room. He needed to be free of that place for a while. It just seemed to bring death and destruction.  
  
He went to the healer's grove, where he could see newly made footprints on the paths. Legolas smiled- he knew to whom they belonged.  
  
He could see her, retreating back down the hill, her brown hair waving behind her in an innocent parody of what she really was: a fey and wonderfully wild creature of Rohan. A shield maiden.  
  
Arwen Evenstar, called Undómiel by her people, had married a mortal and had given up her mortality for him.  
  
Legolas tried to search deep within himself. Would he give his life for a mortal such as Anályne?  
  
The realization came to him slowly, so slowly that the smile had already materialized on his face before his mind could even tell him that it was there.  
  
Anályne retreated further down the hill, until she was out of Legolas's keen sight. But it did not matter.  
  
He would talk to her later, if he could find a peaceful moment. or he would make his own.  
  
~***~  
  
And standing fast  
  
We'd radiate  
  
A light we loved but never named  
  
-Thrice-  
-All That's Left- 


	11. Chapter Eleven

"They're coming for the Shire! Don't you understand? They will come for us! Eventually, when they kill all the Big People and are through with their hardest massacres!"  
  
"Master Pippin," said Fredegar Bolworth, a hobbit just past his tween years and therefore still carrying recklessness somewhere within his rather small mind, "I know that you have seen battle before, but surely the threat can not be that serious this time. I remember it well." Fredegar smirked. "Better than you do, I'm sure."  
  
Sam breathed hard through his nose. Pippin and Sam had been trying to raise the Shire a miraculous second time for over an hour now, but to no avail. Those old enough to remember Saruman purging the land were to frightened to take up the mantle of bravery once again. Those younger, though born to a braver generation than their forefathers, did not believe that Saruman could retake the Shire for the second time in over twenty years.  
  
"Respect your elders, young Bolworth," Sam said in a dangerously edged tone.  
  
Pippin shook his head in order to silence Sam. "The last thing we need is a riot," he said quietly.  
  
Sam nodded, but his eyes narrowed as he stared at Fredegar.  
  
Pippin raised his voice as he turned back to the crowd that he and Sam had summoned into the yard where Bilbo Baggins had once held his magnificent and legendary 111th birthday party. Many had arrived, and some had left once they had seen that no refreshments had been served. But there was still a large congregation, brought on by the mysticism of the two hobbits that had survived the Great War to be heroes among their people and others.  
  
"You can still see where Saruman's great black buildings stood," said Pippin. "You've avoided them for twenty one years."  
  
A rustle spread through the crowd- they had been rightly accused, and they did not like it.  
  
"Shall we allow more of our homes to be destroyed? Shall we allow our children to see war?" He gestured to Rosie, Rosie Gamgee who was holding the newest babe in her arms. She shut her eyes slowly, not wanting to be put on example.  
  
"I am not asking you to become soldiers."  
  
An old hobbit stood, pushing himself up off of his grassy seat, his knuckles gnarled and curled on top of his walking stick, which he brandished at Pippin and Sam. "Then what would you be askin,' young man?"  
  
"We are asking you to become defenders," Sam said, also rising. "For the Shire. Which would not be here if it hadn't been for a hobbit just like yourselves that had traveled across the world to Mordor to destroy the very thing that he loved- not that he loved, but which had the strongest hold on him. Frodo Baggins is gone. Meriadoc Brandybuck has died." Sam took a deep breath. "They defended the Shire because they loved it. Will the lot of you not do the same?"  
  
~***~  
  
Ilden finished scrubbing the wooden spoon off in the bucket of water and placed it beside a bunch of other kitchen utensils. She could hear her mother cooking in the kitchen, humming to herself as she cooked the rabbit over the fire. The spit squeaked slowly, lazily, as it turned over the flame. Ilden could smell it through the door.  
  
The sun was setting to the west; painting the sky a luminous washed golden blue. Pink cirrus clouds hovered near the sun. The outlines of roofs and houses were familiar to her- Edoras had been her home since birth. Ilden's family lived on the outskirts of Edoras, beyond the wall that kept out intruders. They had a large farm and good horses. Their life was good.  
  
Ilden draped the cloth over the side of the bucket and picked up the spoons and forks, using her apron as a basket. She hurried inside and spilled them onto the table.  
  
Her father grunted at the noise, his face veiled by a thin layer of wispy smoke from his pipe.  
  
"Fetch your brother, dinner'll be soon."  
  
"Yes, Father." Ilden nodded, wiped her hands off on her apron, and went back outside. Her elder brother, Nerendim, herded the horses together to be fed every night before dinner. He was late this one night, however. Ilden was not worried. Nerendim loved the horses. He was probably just playing tag with them.  
  
"Nerendim!" Ilden called out as she lifted up her skirts and began to climb the small but steep hill that separated the home grounds from the pastures and fields. "Nerendim!"  
  
She wiped her brow off on the back of her hand. Golden strands straggled across her wrist.  
  
"Nerendim!"  
  
Ilden sighed angrily and hiked her skirts up further as her boots thudded on the wet dirt. It had rained earlier in the morning, and she cursed the mud as it stuck in her boots.  
"Nerendim!"  
  
She reached the crest of the hill and looked down.  
  
The field was filled with black. The mass pulsed and writhed with a guttural voice as it swayed.  
  
"Human!" a single voice shouted. The mass turned towards Ilden as one and began to hurry towards her. Behind them, they left the skeletons of horses and one twenty-year-old boy, picked clean and eaten. Even the bones had been chewed- what the black figures could have eaten before they had sensed fresh meat.  
  
They were upon Ilden before she could even realize that her brother was dead. 


	12. Chapter Twelve

HE DREAMED.  
  
He dreamed of a silver vial under a mallorn tree. Lorien- he was in Lorien.  
  
He breathed deeply and looked back down at the vile. It glowed a light, silvery blue.  
  
He reached out to touch it, softly, gently, as one would touch a loved one or a newborn babe.  
  
A leaf from the tree above him fell. He took no notice. He only reached his fingers closer to the silver.  
  
Another leaf fell.  
  
Closer.  
  
Another.  
  
Closer.  
  
Another.  
  
Another.  
  
Another.  
  
Close.  
  
Soon the tree was weeping leaves, sobbing them, quietly but still in grief.  
  
Another. Closer. Another.  
  
The leaves fell on top of the vial, but he pushed them aside, patiently. They dissolved at his touch. Dissolved into golden droplets of water that fell back towards the trunk of the great tree.  
  
Another.  
  
His fingers were touched by the soft (another) white light that was tinged with (closer) golden. It was (another, closer, close) shining onto his face (another), into his eyes (closer, another, another, another, another, another, another, another) (closer) and he closed them, just a little (another, closer, close) sliver of a lid over (close) his (another) green (closer, closer, another, close) lids (fallen, weeping, another, another).  
  
Suddenly he lurched forwards, a gust of wind at his back. He collapsed onto the vial, enveloped its light, and he shone with the brightness of it. It poured out of his eyes and his ears, expelled out of his mouth like some strange and mystifying vomit.  
  
There was a laugh in the wind (a fell voice in the air, familiar, closer, closer, close, another) and eyes, great and red appeared in front of him (two, there should be only one, no, the one is dead, destroyed, another). They were laughing at him.  
  
If only he had not tried to close his own eyes.  
  
HE WOKE. 


	13. Chapter Thirteen

SHE DREAMED.  
  
There was a man, a man with long white hair riding a pure white horse over green grass. The sky was blue and warm. The sun shone. Puddles on the ground filled with mud gave her evidence of a recent rainfall.  
  
The hooves of the magnificent beast pounded in the one-two-three rhythm of the gallop.  
  
The man drew closer, and she took a step forwards. Surprised that she could, she looked down at her feet. They were covered in a long white gown. The skirt trailed over the mud, but it remained as pristine and lacy as it had when she had first looked down. Pearls were inlaid into the seams.  
  
The man drew close- she could smell earth and knew that it was his body that she smelled. His hair was long. It flashed into her eyes.  
  
He turned the horse and galloped circles around her. She laughed, threw her hands to the sky, but her arms were stiff. They lowered back to her sides of their own accord.  
  
The horse's hooves kicked up small eddies of clotted dirt. They landed on her dress and slid off. She heard him laugh.  
  
The horse stopped its playful run. The rider slid off, behind her, and placed his hands on her waist.  
  
Then he leaned forwards, and whispered a word into her ear, a quiet word, so soft that his lips brushed her ear as he said it.  
  
Under.  
  
She leaned down. His hands were still on her waist. For the first time she noticed small blue flowers growing in the grass.  
  
She lifted the hem of her skirt, just an inch off the ground, sure of the lacy smooth whiteness that would great her underneath.  
  
The bottom of the skirt was stained, soiled, ruined in every way. Dung and dirt, moss and grass, all had formed under her bodice.  
  
SHE WOKE. 


	14. Chapter Fourteen

A/N: I've looked back on this story and I'll probably update something close to a rewrite after I've actually finished it.  
  
Anályne walked through the corridors of the palace, thinking not of the places that her feet were unconsciously taking her but of the strange dream of the night before.  
  
What could it mean? Anályne wondered, walking past guards and servants, who all inclined their heads in respect for her. A pure white gown, but soiled underneath. A man with white hair who smelled pleasantly of the earth. A beautiful field.  
  
She turned a corner and walked straight into Legolas.  
  
"Anályne? Are you alright?"  
  
She shook her head, trying to clear it. "Yes. I'm fine." Anályne looked up into his eyes to see concern there. She shook her head again. "Really. I'm fine. I was just lost in thought."  
  
"Deep thoughts." But the Elf nodded. Anályne smiled.  
  
"Yes. I was remembering a dream. a strange dream."  
  
"You dreamt last night?" Legolas said sharply. Anályne looked up in surprise. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.  
  
"Yes," she said guardedly. "Why so surprised?"  
  
Legolas put a hand to his forehead. "It is just that I had a strange dream as well."  
  
Anályne cocked her head to one side. "What did you dream of?"  
  
He looked at her for a moment, evaluating her.  
  
"I dreamt that I was in Lothlorien, under one of the great mallorn trees." Legolas paused, swallowed. "There was a vial, a vial that radiated a soft blue light. Then the leaves began to fall. They dissolved at my touch. and then there was a wind."  
  
He shook his head. "It has no importance."  
  
"Legolas," Anályne said, her voice demanding.  
  
"The wind pushed me atop the vial, and then the light was in me, spilling from every orifice, and I closed my eyes to guard against the light. but then two red eyes appeared, laughing. I remember thinking of the Eye of Sauron."  
  
Anályne nodded. "A vivid dream, Legolas."  
  
He looked to the ceiling. "Anályne."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Don't let me close my eyes." 


	15. Chapter Fifteen

"King Elessar!"  
  
Aragorn turned around. Arwen looked at him with stately confusion before turning as well.  
  
"Milord," the page gasped out. It was obvious that the boy had ran there, and ran fast- his cheeks were red, and a thin film of sweat covered his forehead. Breathing hard, he held out a piece of parchment. Thick black writing covered it. Aragorn recognized it as the handwriting of ?omer.  
  
He scanned it quickly, and then one large hand crumpled the paper. The handful of words on it had immediately sent him a danger sign- the words themselves held the message to be true.  
  
Attacked- Saruman's orcs. Send aid at once.  
  
* * *  
  
All my hopes and all of my dreams  
  
Everything falling in between  
  
Seems to me that the memories  
  
They  
  
Mean more to you than they do to me  
  
* * *  
  
Legolas mounted his beast, a white mare who whinnied softly under his expert touch. In the next stall, Anályne swung a leg over her own black mount. She whispered softly to it in Elvish.  
  
Riding with them was Bergil and Faramir, along with assorted guards. Bergil rode as a man. Aragorn wanted to know how badly Edoras had been wounded. He had sent one of the Fellowship with them, as well as his most trusted aid.  
  
Anályne hooked the bridle to the rein and wound her fingers around the strong cord and into the horse's thick mane.  
  
Bergil mounted a palomino. His blonde hair glinted in the afternoon sun.  
  
Anályne sat still on her mount, waiting. Legolas checked that his quiver was strapped securely to his back, and that his twin Elvin knives were in their sheaths at his calves.  
  
And at once he was at home, in old times before the necromancer had tainted their woods. He had a horse, a gentle mare, strong beneath his legs. He could feel his bow on his back. The sun slanted through the rafters and lay dotted on the floor.  
  
"Yah!" Faramir called out, kicking his horse in the ribs and stirring it into action. He galloped away, followed by Legolas and Anályne. The guards followed. They rode in two lines, alternating the front with the midsection of the line and the rear.  
  
Anályne had not ridden in earnest since her fateful trip to bid Meriadoc Brandybuck from this world. She would her fingers even tighter in black mane.  
  
Hooves pounded the smooth dirt in a smooth rhythm. The gates of the city opened, and they were loose. Green grass galloped out in waves from under them, shifted by the wind. The sky was blue, with thin windblown clouds. The wind whipped tears into her eyes.  
  
* * *  
  
Through the sky and into your eyes  
  
* * *  
  
They rode hard.  
  
They rode fast.  
  
But the night came sooner than expected, and the company was exhausted. Anályne wiped her brow with the back of her right hand. Legolas narrowed his eyes and scanned the horizon to all sides for signs of abnormality. Then he turned his eyes on her.  
  
She was unpacking her saddlebags, drawing out the necessities- kerchiefs, wax, brushes and tools for her horse. No personal articles. Legolas smiled.  
  
She truly was a warrior. He could see it in her stance. Her back was tensed, the muscles slowly moving under her shift- what he could see of it under her armor. Her right hand kept clenching near her hip, as if she wanted to take the pommel of her sword in hand and keep it there, in the open, just in case.  
  
Faramir had started a fire with some dry twigs and long grass. He himself sat near it, rubbing his sword up and down with a cloth, polishing it.  
  
None of them knew what they would find in Edoras, whether it be ruins or a triumphant battle against the orcs that Saruman had bred. The lines of communication were always open between the two sister cities. Save now.  
  
* * *  
  
And I see everything falling in between  
  
Sew the lips right into your smile  
  
I'm okay with faking this  
  
I'll fake everything just to slip your kiss  
  
* * *  
  
Bergil fingered a feather on the tip of one of his arrows. He had removed it from his quiver and was running it through his fingers, checking this particular arrow for any notches or defects that would require fixing. But no, the feathers were perfectly ruffled, the edges of the strong, thin hairs smooth.  
  
She stood across the fire in the fading daylight, unsmiling and solemn, rubbing her horse down. The Elf stood behind her. Bergil could see his eyes moving towards her, slowly, smoothly, calmly, glinting black like beetles in the light.  
  
He wanted to kill him.  
  
The eyes of the boy were wild in the dim firelight. His fingers bunched unconsciously, crushing a feather. He took no notice. He stared boldly across the fire at the Elf, slim and tall, blonde and no doubt beautiful in the eyes of a woman. His woman.  
  
Bergil was young.  
  
Strong.  
  
Lithe.  
  
Pigheaded. Not once did he stop to think, about the circumstances, about anything that remotely could have changed his mind.  
  
And then he sighed, and he smoothed out the crushed arrows, and the moment passed.  
  
Bergil knew his temper. He knew that he could not let it rise, not now, not in front of her. Not if he had a chance of winning her heart. For all he knew, the Elf had not yet stolen it from him.  
  
Slightly disconcerted at the past moment of violent rage, Bergil put the arrow back into his quiver, leaned his arms on his knees and put his head down on his left bicep.  
  
* * *  
  
If I'm a writer  
  
And I'm a poet  
  
I might love you  
  
But never show it  
  
* * *  
  
"We move back out at dawn," Faramir said. Two men had caught three wild hares streaking across the plain. The fire still burned low. Anályne returned from a walk with an armful of long grass for fuel. The fire burned white smoke.  
  
"Once the fire is strong enough we will eat. For now, take of your armor and rest. Liden, Riath, take the first watch. We'll switch every two hours until sunrise." Faramir ran a hand across his brow. He was exhausted.  
  
Anályne took her eyes from the fire and crossed over to where Legolas was rubbing his mare's shoulder. She sat on the grass a few paces away and saw Bergil, slumped over and asleep under his mount, which was dozing as well.  
  
Presently Legolas took his hand from the sparse white hairs and knelt next to Anályne. Together they watched the men feed the fire.  
  
* * *  
  
You should forget me  
  
This is a long tour  
  
I'll be back  
  
But not in time for  
  
* * *  
  
"Do you fear what you will find in Edoras, Legolas?"  
  
He turned to her. "I fear that I will find it gone."  
  
"As do I."  
  
"It has been long since you have last traveled there."  
  
She bowed her head. Her hair straggled over her shoulder and hung over her face. "It has been a long while.  
  
"Then you shall be glad to see it." He turned back towards the fire, but his eyes watched her.  
  
"If it is still there, still a living place, then yes." She turned towards him. "But I do not think that we will find a living, breathing thing in Edoras."  
  
* * *  
  
If all we speak is rational thought  
  
Everyday I pray for the sadness  
  
My  
  
Eyes are black  
  
My throat full of sickness  
* * *  
  
"Why do you feel as if Edoras is already gone?"  
  
She turned towards him, her hair falling back over her shoulder and onto her armor. "It is just a feeling."  
  
"Feelings can be misleading."  
  
"They can be."  
  
* * *  
  
I'll be listening but not for long  
  
Everyday I pray for the sadness  
  
My  
  
Eyes are black  
  
My throat full of sickness  
  
* * *  
  
"You fear that this feeling is true." He struggled with the words.  
  
"Yes. You have been to Edoras, of course." She looked down, slowly, up.  
  
"A long time ago, back in Théoden's time." He looked down at his knees. "I have not been there since I traveled off with Gimli."  
  
"The dwarf."  
  
"A brave soul. He died soon after the war ended. It was his grief." His eyes filled with sadness. "He had lost his family. He had lost Moria."  
  
"Do you fear the same for my mother if Edoras is gone?"  
  
"I fear the same for you."  
  
He pressed his lips together. He had not meant to speak those words.  
  
* * *  
  
The words I write  
  
Are cheap and trite  
  
But they're drawn on the back of your door  
  
Surrounded by  
  
Numbers that  
  
Remind of the ones before  
  
* * *  
  
"Why do you fear for me?"  
  
"Edoras is your home, is it not?"  
  
"Yes. But I have other homes. Other places."  
  
"You can not replace a memory."  
  
"I know." A hint of anger. "I am a child compared to your years, but not compared to my mind."  
  
"I know." Softly. She sighed and looked down at her fidgeting hands.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"You have no reason to be."  
  
* * *  
  
All my hopes and all of my dreams  
  
Everything falling in between  
  
Seems to me that the memories  
  
They  
  
Mean more to you than they do to me  
  
* * *  
  
Anályne nodded slowly. She rose, took a blanket out of her saddlebag, and settled down on the dirt next to Legolas.  
  
He watched her bed down and smiled, a small one, only just crinkling the corners of his eyes.  
  
"You are not hungry?"  
  
"No."  
  
He leaned back as well, on the grass that served Elves for pillows, and his eyes grew slightly dimmer as he hung in his suspended rest.  
  
* * *  
  
And I see everything falling in between  
  
Sew the lips right into your smile  
  
I'm okay with faking this  
  
* * *  
  
She opened her eyes, slowly. The blanket above her was covered with dewdrops.  
  
A hand appeared, holding a leaf that served as a plate for the unmistakable smell of breakfast wafting from it.  
  
"Good sleep?"  
  
She smiled. "Mm. Did you sleep well?"  
  
"Yes. The earth is a lullaby."  
  
She smiled again, taking the leaf from his hand.  
  
* * *  
  
I'll fake everything just to slip your kiss  
  
The words I write  
  
Are cheap and trite  
  
But they're drawn on the back of your door  
  
Surrounded by  
  
Numbers that  
  
Remind of the ones before  
  
* * *  
  
They reached the slope that had once been Edoras at dusk. They saw the smoke sooner.  
  
There was nothing left.  
  
Ash and a few pieces of charred metal. The bones would be found later, inch deep in what had been their homes of wood and thatch.  
  
Meduseld was still burning.  
  
Anályne covered her lips with her hand, just for a moment. Then her hand went down to her sword. Her stomach lurched, but nothing rose into her throat but a few drops of bile.  
  
Legolas rode up next to her. Their knees touched.  
  
"I'm sorry, Anályne."  
  
She shook her head. "I'll kill them."  
  
"Spread out and look for survivors," Faramir called from a few yards away. His voice was weak with shock.  
  
Edoras was truly gone.  
  
* * *  
  
My lips are cold  
  
The truth is told  
  
* * *  
  
From Autumn To Ashes  
  
"Milligram Smile" 


	16. Chapter Sixteen

A/N: News on the rewrite: I think I'll make every chapter a songfic chapter. If this bothers you, do tell.  
RETURN OF THE KING COMES OUT TOMORROW!!!!  
  
* * *  
  
Old friend they told me you were dead  
  
The news broadcast the funeral  
  
500 channels focus in  
  
* * *  
  
"Don't worry, Sam," Pippin said halfheartedly. "It'll be all right."  
  
"All right, aye," said Sam grumpily.  
  
In front of the two stood fourteen hobbits. Five of them were 'tweens. The rest were elderly and middle aged hobbits who could remember Saruman's rule.  
  
The Shire's defense.  
  
"Do what ye can when the time comes," Sam said, running his hand through his thick blonde curls. "I'm trusting that most of you know how to use weapons?"  
  
"Sticks, aye!" a younger hobbit called out.  
  
"Sticks." Sam stared at the hobbit.  
  
"Aye."  
  
Pippin frowned. "We're going to fight Saruman with sticks?"  
  
* * *  
  
Your love was  
  
Ravished  
  
Drawn  
  
And quartered  
  
The soil was swift to drink your blood  
  
This violence in the name of love  
  
* * *  
  
Saruman smiled.  
  
"Gunda," he called to his lieutenant.  
  
"Sir."  
  
Saruman stepped out of the slim trees on the outskirts of the Fangorn Forest. He was lucky- the trees there were simply trees. They had no memory, no reason to hate him.  
  
In full sunlight, prostrate on the plain, his orcs were watching the company of men ride away from the destruction of Edoras. Rays glinted off of their armor and mail. Saruman smiled, and his grip tightened on his staff. They had not taken away his magic.  
  
He looked up towards the sun, a golden disc hovering just above the slight slope of the land. Planks of wood stuck up in the city, skeletal remains against the dusk.  
  
Saruman looked at his troops.  
  
"We march on Minas Tirith at dawn," said Saruman.  
  
"But, sir-!" Gunda tried to protest.  
  
"Swift and merciless, my dear orc," said Saruman in a slippery tone. Gunda scowled and walked off towards his troops to inform them of the order.  
  
Saruman ran a loving hand down his staff.  
  
* * *  
  
But I still feel you  
  
Despite your tombstone  
  
I still feel you  
  
So friend you must still walk among us  
  
In places we don't dare to glance  
  
* * *  
  
The company riding home from Minas Tirith was a solemn one. Legolas rode at the front, scouting ahead. His eyes and ears were the keenest. Other soldiers scouted at the back. He knew that Anályne was in the middle of the party, somewhere.  
  
She rode next to Bergil in silence. He cleared his throat. She kept staring straight ahead, at the quiver on Legolas's back and the strands of golden hair that were strung across it when he turned his head.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"You have no need to be. Was it your fault that Edoras was attacked?" Anályne tossed her head, defiant. She ignored the voice that spoke in the back of her mind, asking her why she had not been angry with Legolas when he had spoken the same two words.  
  
"I know what it is like to lose a loved one."  
  
"I know you do, and I now share your feeling." She turned her gaze from Legolas's back and looked out over the gently sloping, peaceful hills. "My uncle has died. My mother's brother." Anályne hung her head. "I will have to tell her."  
  
"I will tell her for you, if it will spare you grief."  
  
"Your offer is kind, but it is of no use to me." She did not lift her head when she spoke. Brown tendrils fell over her shoulder, onto her white shift.  
  
Bergil turned away from her. "I'm sorry."  
  
She did not reply.  
  
* * *  
  
I saw you killing Aristotle  
  
I know its all part of the plan  
  
Old friend they told me you were dead  
  
The news broadcast the funeral  
  
500 channels focus in  
  
Your love was  
  
Ravished drawn and quartered  
  
The soil was swift to drink your blood  
  
This violence in the name of love  
  
Old friend they told me you were dead  
  
The news broadcast the funeral  
  
500 channels focus in  
  
Your love was  
  
Ravished  
  
Drawn  
  
And quartered  
  
The soil was swift to drink your blood  
  
This violence  
  
This violence  
  
This violence in the name of love  
  
* * *  
  
It bothered Legolas that he was talking to her.  
  
But he shook his head, clearing his mind. He was a scout.  
  
And she looked disappointed at what the young boy was saying, anyway.  
  
* * *  
  
To awake  
  
And  
  
Avenge the dead  
  
To awake  
  
And  
  
Avenge the dead  
  
To awake  
  
And  
  
Avenge the dead  
  
* * *  
  
Thrice  
  
To Awake And Avenge The Dead 


	17. Chapter Seventeen

* * *  
  
The night will come  
  
And rip away  
  
Her wings of innocence through every word we say  
  
* * *  
  
It was dawn. Shafts of golden light spread over the grassy green fields outside of Minas Tirith. Rose colored clouds hovered over the horizon, anticipating the round edge of the sun to peek over the slopes and bathe the world in soft, mellow early morning light.  
  
Anályne had risen a long time before the dawn. No one in this wing of the palace had yet stirred- either that, or they were all in council with the King. A war council. Either way she was alone with the dawn and with her thoughts.  
  
Her sheer white gown fluttered in the breeze coming in from the nearby window through which she watched the dawn's proceedings. Her bare feet gripped the marble floor. Her knuckles turned white as her fingers clutched the sill of the window, holding on for her life, holding out for an anchor.  
  
She sensed Legolas before she saw him. His tread was light, but her senses seemed amplified in the cool, bright morning air.  
  
He stood there for a long time, watching her. And she watched him as well, in a sense. She could imagine him there, in his earthen clothes with his long braids. Her ears sensed his movements, painting a vivid picture of him in her mind.  
  
Legolas could see the bitter contours in her back. The sight of Edoras destroyed had altered her.  
  
Anályne had grown.  
  
Shield-maiden, his mind and his heart whispered. He could see her hand wielding a sword, parting misty curtains.  
  
"I saw Merry die." Her voice wavered, but held. "I thought I knew death."  
  
"Until you pass from beyond this world into the next, sister, you shall never understand death."  
  
"Then you," Anályne turned to face him, "shall never understand anything but life."  
  
He cocked his head to one side ever so slightly. "I suppose you are correct. But even immortals have emotion. Do I know pain? Anger? Love?"  
  
Anályne cast her eyes down, and then slowly brought them back up again to meet his gaze. His blue eyes were forgiving.  
  
She stepped forwards, one step, two. The distance between them closed, a breath between the wings of a butterfly.  
  
Legolas stood still. He felt confused. Defenseless. Vulnerable.  
  
He, too, took a step forwards.  
  
She reached out a hand-  
  
* * *  
  
Maybe it's time  
  
To spit out the core of our rotting union  
  
Hopefully before it chokes  
  
Us to our senses  
  
* * *  
  
The council had ended. Faramir and Éowyn had returned to their rooms, to prepare.  
  
It was inevitable that Saruman would attack Minas Tirith next. The plan was obvious, but then, why had it worked so well?  
  
Aragorn hung his head. Because no one had expected it to happen.  
  
He could sense Arwen standing motionless behind him. He turned, and saw that she held the sword that Isildur had wielded so many centuries ago, the sword that had been reformed from the shards of Narsil.  
  
"Hlasta- qyetes hfirimain," she said in her familiar, lilting tone. Listen- it speaks to those who are not born to die.  
  
Aragorn shook his head. "Mornie alantië." Darkness has fallen.  
  
"And you shall face it once again, Elessar." Arwen gently held out the sword, the sheath balanced on her fingertips. "Saruman is weak, but not powerless. You have defeated worse than his kind."  
  
"The Fellowship was whole," Aragorn said bitterly.  
  
"Boromir was dead, and Frodo. Frodo wouldn't have made it without Samwise. He would have taken the Ring for himself. As long as you have friends here, you are stronger than you ever knew you could be." Her voice was pleading, slightly pleading. "You know that you can do this. You are the only one."  
  
Aragorn bowed his head. Arwen could see the grey hairs, creeping in like lice. He reached out for the sword, and lifted its weight from her fingers.  
  
"Êl eria e môr," she whispered, and kissed his cheek.  
  
* * *  
  
Guess it's too bad  
  
That everything we have  
  
Is taken away  
  
* * *  
  
The city was in their sight. Gunda marched proudly beside Saruman. His orcs fanned out, low to the ground. The people of Minas Tirith were awake. They could here the whinnying of horses in the streets and the wheels of wagons turning. But there were hardly any voices.  
  
"Master, they are on guard," Gunda whispered. Sound traveled across the plain.  
  
"As they should be." Saruman's voice rumbled softly, strongly.  
  
"When should I give the order, sir?"  
  
Saruman stopped. His cold eyes surveyed the orcs in the front line. He measured the distance between them and the first wall.  
  
"Give it now."  
  
* * *  
  
Swim in the smoke  
  
The hero will drown  
  
Intoxicating beauty tears everything down  
  
* * *  
  
They crawled over the walls of the city, leeches and parasites. The first circle was taken quietly- most had already moved closer to the interior, to the heart of Minas Tirith. It made no matter, Saruman thought as he watched his black orcs, those lovely and disgusting creations, crawling through the streets like spiders.  
  
The first scream was music to his ears.  
  
* * *  
  
But still our hands are  
  
Bound at the wrist  
  
This romantic tragedy is suffocating from your fist  
  
In a sea of fire  
  
* * *  
  
"Stand ready!"  
  
"Ready, captain."  
  
Aragorn nodded and surveyed his troops. They were young and old. He could see the worry lines in the corners of the eyes of youths, and he could see the grimness and determination in the eyes of the other men. They were ready. They had seen battle before, and they knew that it was their turn to die.  
  
"Where is Legolas?" Aragorn asked his lieutenant.  
  
The man shrugged under his armor.  
  
"Send for him at once. Then give the order to spread out through the next wall of the city, out of the palace perimeter," Aragorn ordered. "When it's clear, advance to the next. Hold as much as you can."  
  
The lieutenant nodded, and swallowed down his fear.  
  
* * *  
  
Guess it's too bad  
  
That everything we have  
  
Is taken away  
  
* * *  
  
"Legolas!"  
  
Anályne's hand dropped. Legolas stopped mid-step, looked at her, and turned around.  
  
It was Bergil.  
  
"Anályne, get to safe quarters please," Bergil said. His tone was brisk and commanding as he turned to Legolas. "We need you at the front. King Elessar asked for you."  
  
Legolas nodded gravely as Bergil walked off. He turned back to Anályne, and raised his hand. He placed it on his cheek, and she did the same.  
  
"Farewell."  
  
* * *  
  
Hero  
  
Hero  
  
This word you'll never know  
  
* * *  
  
He turned the corner, that light walk that she loved, and she turned and rushed back to her quarters.  
  
Scoffing Bergil's pompous order, Anályne quickly opened the chest at the foot of her bed. She drew out a pair of trousers and a tunic. Quickly she stripped and put on the clothes from the chest.  
  
Below the clothes was a fine mail coat of mithril. Anályne had admired it many times before, and quickly threw it over her shoulders. She shook her hair out from under it and tied it up with a piece of string. Hurriedly she slipped into a pair of hobnailed boots, and put a breastplate on over the mithril coat. Leg and arm guards on, she shoved the helmet on over her head and adjusted it so that she could see out of the eyelets.  
  
Thus armored, she turned back to the chest and drew out a sword.  
  
* * *  
  
Guess it's too bad  
  
That everything we have  
  
Is taken away  
  
Away  
  
Away  
  
Away  
  
It's taken away  
  
* * *  
  
Story of the Year  
  
And the Hero Will Drown 


	18. Chapter Eighteen

= * =  
  
She burns  
  
= * =  
  
"FORWARDS!!!"  
  
Gunda lifted his sword in the heat of the battle cry, towards the sky, which would soon turn black from human tears.  
  
They, his orcs, spread throughout the inner circle of the city. Slaughtering the few they found, they left the bodies in the pools of their own blood before climbing the second gate.  
  
The women screamed and covered their children's eyes as the orcs crawled, a black waterfall over the walls that had so long protected them.  
  
Gunda laughed, and knew that his master was watching.  
  
= * =  
  
Today's on fire  
  
= * =  
  
Thus armored, Anályne strode quickly down the hall. She didn't want anyone to see her thus attired. They would stop her for sure- she was a princess and even her mother's testimony could not place her in the heat of battle on its own.  
  
The palace was quiet. The women and servants had been moved to the underground complex that had been built soon after King Elessar had gained power.  
  
Through the front double doors she strode, head held high, shoulders tall and straight. The guards gave her a terse nod and did not give her a second glance as they turned their eyes back to the lines of men spread throughout the inner circles. It was their only defense. Their only chance.  
  
Anályne touched two fingers to her helm anyway. It was a fitting gesture.  
  
Quickly she strode behind the lines before she found an empty place in the role. A deserter, she thought bitterly, then stepped quickly into line. The soldier at her side turned his head slightly, then turned back to the approaching orcs.  
  
She turned her head ever so slightly to the right to see if she recognized the soldier next to her. The less who knew her face, the better.  
  
He was not clad in armor. Instead, he wore a brown and green tunic, over which he had slung a bow and a quiver full of arrows. At his hips was a dagger.  
  
Twin daggers.  
  
She lifted her eyes ever so slightly to see the face that she already knew.  
  
Legolas was looking down at her.  
  
She saw a tear slip down his cheek.  
  
= * =  
  
The sky is bleeding above me  
  
And I am blistered  
  
= * =  
  
He drew his sword, held it edgewise in front of his weather beaten, rugged face. This sword had served him well. The Battle of Pelennor Fields could not be forgotten in its glinting, once bloodstained surface.  
  
The King of Men whipped it down by his side and saw the orcs, crawling over the walls and into the third circle of the city. He could hear the screams of the few left in the outer circles.  
  
"Forwards!"  
  
"Forwards!" his lieutenants echoed. Those young, those old, the soldiers of Gondor raised their swords and their voices in their own battle cry. In it was the vehemence of death. Many of them had known Edoras, known Bree, never to know them again.  
  
Aragorn allowed his own voice to get caught up in the rebel yell, and sheer adrenaline coursed through his limbs and he started forwards, before he even knew it. His men followed him, the men of Gondor and the men of Rohan.  
  
He would not suffer the innocent deaths of his people.  
  
"Saruman!" Aragorn yelled as he ran, sword raised, through the gate.  
  
= * =  
  
I walk these lines of blasphemy every day  
  
= * =  
  
"So he calls."  
  
The dark wizard gripped his staff with his hand. He knew that yell, and he recognized the hatred in it. It barely, just barely, touched an old nerve.  
  
Saruman looked down at his old and withered hands, at his tall crisp white staff that had caused pain, at the city under siege. A flame leaped forwards, tall and spouting and proud, from one of the outer circles. Fresh screams accompanied it.  
  
The desire to have blood on his hands rose in his throat, a dirty and disgusting bile.  
  
Saruman started forwards, each step cursing those who he hated and loved.  
  
= * =  
  
And still  
  
= * =  
  
And their eyes met, and time hung suspended.  
  
= * =  
  
Like a bad star  
  
I'm falling faster down to her  
  
= * =  
  
And Aragorn's battle cry reached their ears, and the men behind them surged forwards and the spell was broken.  
  
= * =  
  
She's the only one who knows  
  
= * =  
  
And a tear slipped down her cheek, for the emotions she had seen in his eyes were so great that she felt like she was already dead, already subject to the fantasies that were never supposed to occur in life.  
  
= * =  
  
What it is to burn  
  
= * =  
  
He loved her, and she held a sword.  
  
= * =  
  
I feel diseased  
  
= * =  
  
"We are their women." Éowyn's voice was bitter. "We should be fighting beside them."  
  
"You have your daughter to think of, Éowyn."  
  
"Anályne." Éowyn sighed. "I should go and talk to her. She should know the risks."  
  
Arwen nodded, and watched as Éowyn strode off the balcony, a sword in her hands.  
  
The women were the last defense.  
  
= * =  
  
Is there no sympathy from the sun  
  
= * =  
  
They ran forwards, the men at arms behind their king. Aragorn ran forward, his sword held out in front of him like the lone member of a phalanx, and he cried, meaningless words in a language that his roaring ears could not hear or recognize.  
  
The next gate opened, and Aragorn could see boys with swords and helmets and girls with rocks who waited on the roof beside his archers. Arrows whistled past his ears and into the next circle of the city, where the orcs had already pervaded.  
  
The first orc climbed over the whitewashed wall. An arrow pierced its throat and it slid down, leaving a trail of thick, black blood. It lay on the ground, twitching with the last energies of life.  
  
Another arrow sailed over the wall. It hit a man right between the eyes.  
  
Black blood mingled with red on the street as the man fell. The lines paused, the energy died.  
  
Aragorn leaned down and closed the dead man's eyes. He straightened quickly and thrust his sword through the bars of the gate, skewering a waiting orc whose dagger had been too short to reach him. He then sliced off the lock and kicked against the force of the pressing orcs. His men joined him, leaning against the doors, kicking and fighting tooth and nail for their lives and for the life of their fair city of the sun. They pressed with all of their might, but the orcs were both strong and smart. They could see the rage burning in the men's eyes.  
  
Finally they pushed through, and the battle for Minas Tirith began for the second time in twenty years.  
  
= * =  
  
The sky's still fire  
  
But I am safe in here  
  
From the world outside  
  
= * =  
  
He remained beside her through the pressing of men into the gate. Legolas knew that he could not have stopped her even if he had wanted to try. She was a daughter of Rohan, and he could never change that.  
  
Anályne kept her sword close to her for fear that she might stab one of the soldiers.  
  
"The neck, Anályne!" Legolas said as a surge separated them. He had an arrow hitched in his bow. "Go for their necks!"  
  
She didn't even spare the breath to nod, but he knew that she had heard him. Throwing her body forwards into the press of men against the gate, Anályne struggled with them until the gate flew open.  
  
Orcs, with black teeth and black gums, suddenly filled her vision.  
  
In that moment she forgot everything that her father had ever taught her. She saw the glint of metal in an orcs hand, and she swung her sword wildly and without precision. Blood splattered her helmet and her hands.  
  
She stood still for a moment, shaking, before she swung her sword again.  
  
= * =  
  
So tell me  
  
= * =  
  
Saruman strode forwards, through the already opened gate. His steps were swift, his eyes uncouth and fey. He walked until he was in front of the back lines.  
  
Saruman tilted his staff forward and uttered a single word.  
  
He could see men, men of Gondor, flying back into the air. Some flew clear over the wall. Others, not so fortunate, hit the barrier with a sickening crunch.  
  
Saruman grinned, lips peeling back over his old and mottled teeth, and gripped his staff harder.  
  
= * =  
  
What's the price to pay for glory  
  
= * =  
  
"Saruman!"  
  
Aragorn could feel his voice gaining strength. He could sense the wizard's blood nearby.  
  
Stabbing and thrusting with all of his might, Aragorn killed orcs like flies. Whirling around in a quick circle, he could see the bodies of dead men and orcs around him. Gondor still had a strong side against these strong orcs.  
  
In truth, Aragorn had expected the battle to be ended. With regular orcs, it would have been. These were Uruk-Hai. All of them were.  
  
He turned towards the gate, to the back lines of the orcs. He could see the figure robed in white.  
  
Then his gut was punched with an unseen force, and Aragorn flew back. He landed hard on his side, his legs straddling a dead man.  
  
He leapt back up, grabbed his sword and ran with it.  
  
= * =  
  
Like a bad star  
  
I'm falling faster down to her  
  
= * =  
  
Anályne didn't notice the blood running down her leg until the bodies of several clumsily killed orc corpses surrounded her swinging range. The pain from the wound had been blackened in the fight to keep alive.  
  
Gagging, she spat what had already risen into her throat into a pile of orcs and raised her sword.  
  
= * =  
  
She's the only one who knows  
  
What it is to burn  
  
= * =  
  
Legolas had lost sight of Anályne a long time before. His quiver was nearly empty, and he found himself retreating. He looked around wildly for an arrow, any arrow, for his last arrow was clenched tightly in his fist.  
  
You don't want to fight.  
  
The voice was clear in his mind, and from a long distance away he could see Saruman, a glowing figure in white.  
  
You don't want to fight. Let lose your feelings. You helped me. Just lay down and die.  
  
His fist closed harder around the arrow and he squeezed his eyes shut.  
  
DIE!  
  
Legolas's thigh burst into flame, and crying out with pain he swung around and stabbed the arrow straight between the eyes of an orc.  
  
= * =  
  
Today is fire  
  
And she burns  
  
= * =  
  
Aragorn could taste his own blood rising in his throat. He crashed through the lines of orcs.  
  
= * =  
  
Today is fire  
  
And she burns  
  
= * =  
  
Anályne closed her eyes and swung her sword, feeling it connect with flesh- man or orc, she did not know. She only knew that she had killed.  
  
= * =  
  
She burns  
  
= * =  
  
Memory entranced his mind. Memory- a dream. Legolas's dream. His mother and sister.  
  
= * =  
  
She burns  
  
= * =  
  
Nenya.  
  
= * =  
  
She burns  
  
= * =  
  
Saruman had Nenya. He had killed Elves with it.  
  
= * =  
  
She burns  
  
= * =  
  
"You told me in my vision. in my dream.. That I was your uprising," Legolas said tentatively. Saruman was smart; he had not yet run out of tricks. Legolas kept a steady hand on the bowstring and felt the comforting pressure of his twin elven knives in their pouches on his belt. "How will I help you?"  
  
Saruman began to creep to the left. "Be still!" Legolas commanded.  
  
Saruman leered at him. "Don't you understand? You are going to kill the guard, my son. You are going to kill him and then I will be free.. Free to enter the city and kill that rat you put on the throne!"  
  
Legolas let go of the bowstring. The arrow's course was straight and true, but the only thing it had pierced was thin air. Saruman had disappeared.  
  
Anályne looked at her empty arms, puzzled.  
  
"Legolas?" she said tentatively. "Legolas! Are you all right? You were screaming in your sleep." When Legolas's back remained turned to face her, she asked, "Legolas? Are you all right?"  
  
= * =  
  
She burns  
  
= * =  
  
And Legolas knew that Bergil had been the guard, the guard he was to kill, the boy who was to kill because he had loved Anályne.  
  
= * =  
  
She burns  
  
= * =  
  
Aragorn rushed towards the wizard, sword free and lose in his hand. Saruman's eyes were closed in the heat of his power.  
  
He swung.  
  
= * =  
  
Like a bad star  
  
= * =  
  
Bergil twirled his knives, stabbing two orcs in quick succession, a quick one-two rhythm that he had learned from his father at the age of seven. Black blood laced his arms up to the elbows, thick and dry.  
  
He saw an orc; neck raised in battle cry, and threw his knife towards it. He saw it connect, saw the black blood spew forth from the wound.  
  
Bergil bent over from the force of the throw. He did not see the orc creeping up quickly behind him.  
  
Heat spread through his heart, his ribs, and Bergil knew that it was his own blood that warmed him through the pains of death.  
  
He fell.  
  
= * =  
  
I'm falling faster down to her  
  
= * =  
  
Aragorn swung, all his years as a purged wanderer of the earth raised in his arms as he felt the sword connect with the neck of the old and withered man.  
  
Saruman's eyes shot open with surprise.  
  
Aragorn grunted. "Death has found you at last, old man."  
  
Saruman's lips curled in a fatal sneer and he spat blood at Aragorn through his two front teeth. It splattered on his breastplate.  
  
"As death will find you."  
  
Saruman fell.  
  
= * =  
  
She's the only one who knows  
  
= * =  
  
The Uruk-Hai felt their master fall. The magic that bound them collapsed into writhing flames.  
  
They tried to yell, but their screams stuck in the bile and blood and flame that had already risen into their thick throats.  
  
They knew that they were dying as their last whiff of intelligence left them. Many turned their eyes to the ruins of Mordor, but most tried to see the body of their master.  
  
But all they saw was a man, standing tall and proud, a sword in his hand, the king of Gondor.  
  
= * =  
  
What it is to burn  
  
= * =  
  
Finch  
  
What It Is To Burn  
  
A/N: I was grounded right in the middle of writing this! Thankfully it was only for a day and, as you see, I soon finished.  
  
I feel that this song was especially appropriate for this chapter. Don't ask me why, I just did. The whole "She's the only one who knows / what it is to burn" just really got me.  
  
Thanks, ya'll. 


	19. Chapter Nineteen

= * =  
  
I've waited for this moment  
  
All my life and more  
And now I see so clearly  
What I could not see before  
  
= * =  
  
The message came soon, a white horse riding through the night a few days after the battle for Minas Tirith had taken place. Sam and Pippin had barely managed to restrain themselves as they saw the guard riding through the night.  
  
It was Faramir himself, come to tell them the news that Minas Tirith had been won.  
  
= * =  
  
The time is now or never  
And this chance won't come again  
I throw caution and myself into the wind  
  
= * =  
  
The night was filled with the sounds of bottles opening, of liquor spilling into the mouths of hobbits that were glad they had not come to war. The pub did a roaring trade that night.  
  
The young 'tweens that Sam and Pippin had recruited kept their weapons close for three days afterwards. Sam smiled at their ignorance, and their plain determination to fight. He wished them well, and he hoped they would never see war.  
  
= * =  
  
There's no promise of safety  
On these secondhand wings  
But I'm willing to find out  
What impossible means  
A leap of faith  
  
= * =  
  
Pippin and Sam escorted Faramir to Bucklebury. They showed him where Merry had been buried, along with his sires.  
  
Faramir knelt and touched the dirt above the fresh grave. A single tear slipped down his cheek.  
  
"Be brave, young hobbits," he said as he mounted his steed. "Gondor will not forget your courage."  
  
"Aye, and we had a good deal of it, too," said Pippin, almost defiantly. Sam simply smiled.  
  
"Be well. I hope we meet again." Faramir saluted, clucked to his horse, and he rode off into the dusky west.  
  
= * =  
  
A parody of an angel  
Miles above the sea  
I hear the voice of reason  
Screaming after me  
You've flown far too high, boy  
  
Now you're too close to the sun  
  
Soon your makeshift wings will come undone  
  
= * =  
  
"Sam?"  
  
"Yes, Pip?"  
  
= * =  
  
But how will I know limits from lies  
If I never try?  
  
= * =  
  
"Do ye think our time here is up? Should we pack our bags and leave all of this behind? Is there anything really for us here now, I mean."  
  
= * =  
  
There's no promise of safety  
On these secondhand wings  
But I'm willing to find out  
What impossible means  
I'll climb through the heavens  
On feathers and dreams  
'Cause the melting point of wax  
Means nothing to me  
Nothing to me  
  
= * =  
  
Sam sighed and tucked his hands into his pockets. "I dunno, Pippin. I really don't. What do you think we should do?"  
  
= * =  
  
I will touch the sun  
Or I will die trying  
  
= * =  
  
"The Shire's our home- it always has been." Pippin bowed his head. "But we're not of the Shire anymore, really, are we?"  
  
= * =  
  
There's no promise of safety  
On these secondhand wings  
But I'm willing to find out  
What impossible means  
  
= * =  
  
Sam turned to Pippin, grinning, just a little smile upturning the corners of his mouth.  
  
"I would like to see the Elves again," he said softly.  
  
= * =  
  
I'll climb through the heavens  
On feathers and dreams  
'Cause the melting point of wax  
Means nothing to me  
Nothing to me  
  
= * =  
  
Thrice  
  
The Melting Point Of Wax 


	20. Chapter Twenty

The fire burning in the circle was extinguished soon after Faramir left. Éowyn watched him leave, growing smaller on the horizon, eyes heartened. Her daughter had been stupid, stupid and reckless just like she had been, and she had survived. Éowyn looked down at her intertwined hands. The shield maidens of Rohan, she thought to herself. We are a breed apart.  
  
= * =  
  
Once  
  
As my heart remembers  
  
All the stars were fallen embers  
  
= * =  
  
Arwen swept down the staircase. Aragorn stood there, running his hands through his hair, the smells of battle still cloaking his figure. She threw her arms around his neck.  
  
"I'm so glad you are safe," she whispered into his neck.  
  
He grinned, and his bloodstained, dirty arms encircled her waist.  
  
= * =  
  
Once  
  
As my heart remembers  
  
I was with you  
  
= * =  
  
The inside of her helmet was slick with sweat. Anályne could see it on the table beside her bed, eyes hazed with pain. The soft voices of the healers surrounded her, comforting and gentle, but her leg was afire. She gathered the bed sheets into her closed fists and bit down on her lip until blood came and mingled with the grime already covering her face.  
  
She knew that Legolas was in the bed next to her, being treated for a stab wound. She closed her eyes, hard, and wrenched her neck slowly to one side so that she could look at him.  
  
Anályne opened her eyes, slowly, and saw his own blue eyes staring back into her own.  
  
= * =  
  
Once  
  
In the care of morning  
  
In the air was all belonging  
  
= * =  
  
She squeezed her eyes shut again in a painful blink as the healer muttered soundless words over her. A prayer, perhaps. Was the wound that serious?  
  
A touch of a cool hand, a ripple and swish of cloth, and the healer left. Anályne slept.  
  
She was allowed to leave the place of healing three days later. She leaned heavily on a staff.  
  
= * =  
  
Once  
  
When the day was dawning  
  
I was with you  
  
= * =  
  
The air was cool against his skin, the weight of bow and arrow free from his back. The flowers smelled fresh, their blue petals glistening with dew in the early morning sunshine.  
  
He watched the sunrise, illuminating the green hills, still spotted with black orc blood. But he looked beyond the fields, beyond the haze that still covered Mordor.  
  
"Legolas."  
  
He turned to see Anályne smiling at him. Her armor, too, was gone, though the air of battle still hung about her. Legolas grinned back.  
  
= * =  
  
How far we are from morning  
  
How far we are  
  
= * =  
  
She limped towards him and rested her hand on the banister of the fence that surrounded the house of healing, relaxing her grip on the cane. Silently, they watched the sun progress upwards toward the rosy clouds.  
  
= * =  
  
And the stars shining through the darkness  
  
Falling in the air  
  
= * =  
  
"Anályne?"  
  
She turned towards him, a confused look in her eyes, for his voice had shook as he said her name.  
  
= * =  
  
Once  
  
As the night was leaving  
  
Into us our dreams were weaving  
  
= * =  
  
"Yes, Legolas?"  
  
He swallowed, turned towards her. His own eyes held the pain that the last twenty-one years had held for him. But his blue irises were clear as he reached out a hand and touched, gently, her jaw beneath her ear. His hand was cool and covered with calluses. Anályne closed her eyes, leaned softly forward into his hand.  
  
"I love you."  
  
= * =  
  
Once  
  
All dreams were worth keeping  
  
I was with you  
  
= * =  
  
Her green eyes opened slowly, but he knew the feeling they would hold once they opened. She smiled softly back at him, reaching a hand out to his shoulder. Her eyes crinkled at the corners as they drew closer, their lips touching, softly. There was no rush as his hand smoothed her dress down over her hips, no rush as Anályne lifted her arms over her head and placed them around his neck. She leaned back, smiling to the sun, as he kissed her jawbone and her throat and the space between her collarbone. There was no rush as she lowered her head back down to him and kissed him, soundly, softly, desperately and slowly. There was no rush as he gathered her in his arms and carried her along the path, laying her down among the flowers as she pulled him down with her, kissing him all the way.  
  
There was only eternity.  
  
= * =  
  
Once  
  
When our hearts were singing  
  
I was with you  
  
= * =  
  
Enya  
  
Fallen Embers 


	21. Dedication

= * =  
  
I want to write the perfect song And play it just for you  
While you are tangled up in sleep I need you more than I'll ever know  
And till I stop breathing My lungs will take you for granted  
  
Thrice  
In Years To Come  
  
= * =  
  
A year ago I started this story. A year later, I finished it when I never thought that I would. Thanks for sticking around.  
  
All locations and characters except for those specified in earlier disclaimers are property of J.R.R. Tolkien. Anályne especially is my sole property. If you for some reason want to use her, tell me and put it in a disclaimer. But I highly doubt it.  
  
A rewrite is a likely possibility. If you have any suggestions, they are welcome. I love (constructive) criticism.  
  
My email is Kirsten624@aol.com. If you have any questions or comments, review or email me. If you wish to receive news on the rewrite, review or email me with your email address.  
  
I'd like to dedicate this story to all who have stuck with it, through its shortness and its Nestrik-ness and song ficcy-ness and weird-ness and everything else that's possibly wrong with it.  
  
I'd also like to dedicate it to Doug, Dave, Greg, Matt, Sean, John and Nick.  
  
But this story truly dedicated to Mike- I 'lîr en êl luthia 'uren.  
  
I'd like to thank Cassie, Christine, Kimberley, Alex, Kristen, Joe, Chas, Laura, Rachel, John, Thomas, Stacey, Natalie, Kelly, Candice, Dana, Clay, Will, Jamel, Jason, Marcelle, Chandani, Joe, Steve, Julian, Brendan, Frankie, Brett, and anyone else who I forgot.  
  
On Fanfiction I would like to thank Xela Lupe, Sihaya, Kumiko Eharu, The Pepper Imps, and everyone who reviewed.  
  
On Fiction Press I would like to thank the Good Haiku Police and Amandariella Petrifica.  
  
RIP SSJTOM a.k.a. THE LEAFSTER- wherever you went, buddy, come back for more HKP bashing. It ain't the same without you.  
  
To all my music and bands. Songs used in this fic belong to the respective bands. "The Missing" is a song from the soundtrack to the Two Towers.  
  
Support your local bands.  
  
To John and Valerie- rest in peace. We'll always remember you.  
  
= Never forgive. =  
  
= Never forget. =  
  
= Death before dishonor. =  
  
/// Nestrik Kirsten /// 


End file.
